Crossing the Line
by The Antic Repartee
Summary: It took more than defeating the Green Death for Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III to become the warrior chieftain of lore. There were more eyes to open, more minds to change, and his ambition only continued to grow with the aid of two women. HxA, HxC, mild AxOC
1. Comfort Zone

**A/N: **The following story details the months and years following the "Integration". The reader will find a healthy blend of booklore and reality. The events start one year after the movie.

**Please note: **Because this story switches between Hiccup/Astrid moments and Hiccup/Camicazi moments it is in the category that applies to the most** recent chapter.**

**Dreamworks and Cressida Cowell own the characters I desecrate.**

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><p><strong>Comfort Zone<strong>

Camicazi quietly padded up the dense, wooden steps, ascending into the loft of the Haddock household. A steady beat of thuds and clunks knelled from above, holding curious power of attraction to power her advance and a lesser sense of foreboding to repel her.

She reached the top step, and her eyes sought the noise haunting the chief's residence. The source immediately stood out to her, and Camicazi spent a moment studying the young man pacing the floors in mismatched steps. He seemed so...off—and it was more than the missing leg or his anger at the village twisting his features. He was at war with his own body—worn, stretched in every sense of the word, with arms too long and hollowness to his face. The bristles on his chin emerged in an agonizing pace—a complaint he shared with her for every visit—and he'd already had to adjust his leg twice over the last few months.

There were more changes than he knew how to deal with, and she knew Hiccup hated to be out of his comfort zone. He hated being off-balance. The universe hated him.

Hiccup muttered into the hand he continually ran over his mouth, sticking to the same mantra as though trapped in a loop.

"I can't...I can't..."

"Hiccup," Camicazi spoke his name softly, both to announce her presence, which he was likely already aware of, and to break him from his slump. Her voice did the job of spurring him into a tirade.

"I can't do this anymore," he exploded. His hands flew to his hair, roughly pulling the long fringe back from his face. "The...the...the decisions, and the-the opinions? They're always shot down—always! They don't want to hear what I have to say. They just want my approval so they can feel good about themselves!"

Camicazi chewed on the corner of her lip, hovering on that top step. She knew there was little she could say to placate Hiccup—certainly not by disabusing his claims. The multi-clan Thing hadn't exactly gone smoothly—shouts for exploits filled the Hall for much of the hour. Expansions, power plays, lands to be conquered...and all on the backs of dragons. Her mother hadn't helped by boasting about the haul from Lindisfarne.

"They're restless," Camicazi settled on mentioning. "They're just..."

"Searching for something to prove their "Vikingness"," Hiccup snarled in an uncharacteristic display of aggression.

Camicazi blinked, but made no attempt to out-snark him. Only one of them could be hotheaded at a time—it was an unspoken rule. Unused to being the calmer of the two, she struggled with finding a way to pacify him.

"They're just trying to adapt," she said delicately. And they were. The Vikings of Berk may have been the first to incorporate dragons as home-sharing allies, but it proved to be a large hurdle to overcome. Fear still lingered on both sides, habits and instincts would rear up from time to time, usually setting in motion some rather violent confrontations.

"It's been a year!" Hiccup sounded desperate, like he needed to find reasons why his village couldn't accept their peaceful lives as is.

"After three_ hundred _years of fighting dragons. You can't expect them to just stop _fighting._ They need to direct their energy elsewhere."

"By using _dragons?_ It's not...how could they...?"

The words wouldn't come to him. Hiccup stilled from his agitation, but the energy remained in his shoulders and fists. His head bowed, his tongue darted out to wet his lips.

"What do they expect from me? Did they think that I'm some miniature form of my father? Just because I showed some backbone _once _they thought I was suddenly going to blossom into one of them?"

Camicazi had to grin despite herself.

"You call defeating the greatest dragon ever seen "showing some backbone"?" She'd been to the island; she'd seen pieces of the skull. She'd heard the story more times than she'd care for—boastfully by Stoick, gritty and tragic by Hiccup.

Hiccup didn't look at her. He stared at the wall, his chest swelling with deep inhalations. When he moved again she saw his bad leg shudder, just before a harsh swear blew past his lips, loud enough to startle her.

"You alright?" She stepped into the room fully. Ignoring her, Hiccup swore again, lowering himself to the bed with an angry hiss.

Camicazi continued to advance until she stood just before him. She dipped her head, wanting his attention. "Hey..."

He still wouldn't look at her. He concentrated on the prickling stump and rubbed the side of his leg irritably. "It's going to rain."

She knew this. She saw the signs in the waves earlier.

Once again, Camicazi felt unsure of where to put herself, so she idled just before him. She wanted to soothe his pain; she didn't know how but she wanted to take away the discomfort of his leg, the troubles of his mind. There had been plenty of amputees in her time—most older from battle, a couple younger from accidents. Never did she think someone she _knew_ would suffer such a fate, not at their age.

She didn't know what to say to him when she first found out. She still didn't know what to say.

"Is this how I'm going to have to get their attention every time?" he asked quietly, clearly on the same mental wavelength. His focus remained on the meeting of flesh and metal; a fierce glare heated the prosthetic, blaming it for more than it should rightly burden. "They'll rush into thing with their new, handy _rides _and it'll take me losing my other leg to make them realize it's _not the answer_!"

The village saw the battle with the Green Death as the dawning of a new era. Hiccup, who already saw dragons as equal and sentient beings, looked back and saw loss. He lost his leg, he lost a freedom he never realized he had, and he lost some of the purity that dragons represented before the integrations. Humans corrupted. He could see that now.

"Even Astrid," his own words startled him—her_ name _on his lips startled him—because it hurt more than he was willing to admit. "She'll side with the village; she always does."

She hissed at him from his side for every headshake or disapproving noise he made at that meeting.

_"What are you doing? Do you have any idea what this could do for our village? Why are you being like this?"_

He remembered her face just before he stormed off. Astrid looked at him the way she looked at him back in their dragon-training days—When he had almost gotten them both killed by the Nadder and she stared down at him in incredulity.

He was losing her; one by one he was losing all the _humans _who had briefly accepted him. Losing her would be the hardest blow to take...if he could take anymore.

Camicazi reached out, leaning forward a bit to run a hand over the back of Hiccup's head. "That's just who she_ is _Hiccup. She's just a 'greater good' kind of girl. You're more of the...freethinking individualist. Look, you'll work it out later."

"What if we _don't_," he sounded frightened. "What if she continues to lean towards...towards fighting, and_ I don't _want_ to fight_—and we just grow farther and farther apart? I know I'm frustrating her right now, but she's frustrating _me_. Why does she have to do this? Why do _they_," he jabbed his hand at the wall, "why do_ they _have to do this? Why do they have to look for fighting?"

The answer was obvious to Camicazi.

"They just...they want to get into Valhalla."

Her tribe hadn't changed much. They continued to roam and pillage—plenty of opportunity for a glorious death—with only a handful taking on dragon companions, herself included. Berk had always been on the defense. Now they sought an offense that Hiccup could not cope with.

Hiccup ran a hand down his face. He knew this as well.

"Gods, I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to listen to this. You came here and...and I'm just..." He drew in a shuddering breath and his shoulders sagged under defeat. "I don't know what to do. I don't know what they expected. If they thought I was some big Viking hero underneath all of...this..."

His focus went back to his leg—where it usually went. Even after a year, even after he learned to walk with the barest of limps and, on occasion, move rather quickly, it felt alien. A bitter reminder that he could change a village, but not its people.

He shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I just...I feel so inadequate. Like I'm..." _Half a person. Still a disappointment. Still __**different.**_

"You got people to finally_ look _at you," Camicazi reminded him, because she feared he lost sight of how much progress he made.

He continued to shake his head, much to her chagrin. He didn't want to hear it—every bit as stubborn as the village he cursed.

"And low and behold—they're seeing the same person I've always been. I haven't _changed_." He couldn't agree with what they wanted to do, he couldn't imagine a world where he ever would.

"But you _did _show them that _you _can be just as brave and remarkable in your own way." She'd always known it. He'd proved his grit when they were younger and ever since she tolerated his passive demeanor because she knew it was by choice. She knew what he was capable of with the right weapon and under the right duress, and it was enough for her.

Hiccup turned his neck up and stared into her eyes, his gaze dark and intense and wavering with tumult.

"But it isn't _their _way. It never _will _be." He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his thighs, and he stared at his clasped hands. His voice carried on in a whisper. "I didn't do this so that dragons could be used as instruments of war…I never meant for...I...I just wanted to help Toothless. I just wanted all the killing and the hate to stop."

Unthinkingly, Camicazi moved to sit down beside him. He hardly reacted to the shifting of weight, or to the hand that rubbed his shoulder.

"That's what makes you a hero," Camicazi sighed. Something about seeing him look so lost and disturbed had her feeling extraordinarily sympathetic, and she couldn't seem to cap these feelings. They held some sort of intensity, like the energy that built in her belly during a really good fight. But this one filled her chest; squeezing her lungs and making her feel strangely breathless at the heat of his shoulder beneath her palm.

He glanced away from her. "No one else sees it like that."

"They're Vikings. You're some...sub category of Viking."

He snorted. "Thanks."

A short grin found its way to her mouth at the comforting cynicism.

"You're awesome," she told him, as frank and honest as she'd always spoke.

"I don't feel awesome," he responded in a slightly strangled voice. "I feel like a disappointment...again."

_The way his father looked at him when he spoke out against raiding...Like he broke a promise...Like he was suddenly supposed to understand their way of thinking._

"You're not a disappointment," she deadpanned. "You can't be, after all you've done—"

Without thinking, without realizing, her gaze fell to his leg. He caught on before she could move it.

"It wasn't enough," he said with a vacant expression. "I knew...knew it wouldn't last..." That perfect fantasy world; the dream he had roused_ in_to upon awakening after the battle. The understanding, the peace, the _respect._ All temporary. "I can't control the dragons. I can't tell them not to listen to the humans they've chosen to bond with. But once I heard having them live with us was an option, I just kept pushing for this integration to work...I never thought...now they're being pushed into..."

"You couldn't have known," she soothed. She knew now that she wouldn't be able to shake this acute compassion; that she had to act on it. "You had the best intentions—you usually do."

As if he couldn't hear her, Hiccup continued to mumble to his lap. "Do they even realize they're being used?"

"I—I don't know," Camicazi cringed. He was asking questions she couldn't answer, would never _think_ to answer. He always thought too deeply for her to follow.

"I hate this," he moaned. "Using the dragons is _wrong _and...and..." He paused, as if he just realized a truth within himself. "I brought this on us..."

His voice hitched and Camicazi felt her heart break. She immediately set to hushing him like her mother used to do when she was upset. Her left hand moved of its own accord, reaching out to his face, to the clenching jaw and furrowed brow. She wanted to smooth it all out some how.

Hiccup closed his eyes at the touch of her hand brushing back his hair, the thumbs rolling over his forehead and his cheekbones. To Camicazi's alarm, it had the opposite affect to what she was going for. Hiccup pulled both his lips inward, and his face screwed for a suspended moment as he battled back more emotion than what was appropriate.

"Now I don't know how to fix it," he rasped. The knob in his throat bobbed a couple times with his harsh breaths. "They won't listen to me. I can't stop this. I don't know...I can't..."

Camicazi's heart pounded. She didn't want to see this; she didn't want to see him breakdown like this. She didn't want him to be alone either, but she couldn't think of anyone else who would give him the reassurance he needed, the tolerance and patience and tenderness no one but _he_ would openly seek.

Gods, why did he need so many things their culture couldn't provide? The difficult man...

"Hiccup...Hiccup listen to me," His eyes were still closed; he refused to open them, even as she took his face in both her hands. She focused on his tear-darkened eyelashes, on the pattern of freckles across the bridge of his nose and his upper lip. Her fingers explored the textures of his broadening jaw, rough and solid and losing more familiarity by the day.

"You are not inadequate," she spoke firmly. "You are different and you can make a difference and people _care_ about what you have to say."

"But I can't—" He tried to shake his head, but her hands held firm.

"Shhhhh."

"It's too—it's—"

"Shhh, stop."

The first tear fell. Like a healing touch drawn to pain, Camicazi's lips met the warm and briny bead just as it took the curve of his cheekbone. She wasn't thinking; it was so natural, this impulse to comfort him this way.

The flesh of his cheek called to her—wind-burned but young—so she kissed him there again, tasting Berk and ash and _him_.

His breathing had calmed. In fact, his breathing had stilled all together after that second kiss. He waited, questioned, with closed eyes. The silence of the room suddenly became _loud_—eerie and oppressing, making her actions so poignant.

Something held her senses hostage as she gently nudged his head to face hers with the hand remaining on his jaw. She felt like an outsider to her own body, an observer to her actions. Her lips never strayed far from his skin, landing again at the lines of his mouth, and again at the corner of his lip.

The sensitive graze sent a spark into her body that stole the breath from her lungs, and because she couldn't quite make sense of it she decided to seek it again. She kissed him because he hadn't stopped her yet and she didn't quite know what that meant. She didn't know if the need to tremble came from kissing a man _sort of _spoken for, or kissing a man who she _knew_. Who knew _her._

_Oh gods, oh gods..._

She knew him well enough to know he reflected her exact thoughts. It read in the stiffening of his shoulders and the stillness of his mouth. Neither could move; they were too scared. This was scarier than facing a better-skilled foe, scarier than disease or starvation—this was a step into the unknown.

Her mind scrambled as her body froze in the moment. How did she get in this situation? What led to this? How could she get out without destroying the trust they had in each other? She didn't know if there was any turning back, and not just because she crossed a line they had silently agreed to never cross, but because she got a taste of something she never realized she wanted.

There_ was_ no turning back. Not for her.

Then she felt pressure. He was kissing back—by Freya Hiccup was moving his lips against hers, _grabbing, _almost—and Camicazi remembered that Hiccup needed her. _Her. _Because she saw him before the integration _and_ after; she saw who he was long before Berk had it shoved in their faces, and she continued to see who he was as Berk continued to refuse to. She could see what this did to him.

This was ignoble, but necessary. This was trouble.

She loved trouble.

Time lost all meaning—the kiss lingered forever and ended in a heartbeat. Reality settled over them, heavy and sustained all at once, as their bottom lips parted. That was as far as either was willing to move. Their noses continued to brush cheeks, their foreheads pressed together.

She couldn't open her eyes. She didn't want to see him angry or disappointed. She didn't want to have to explain herself because she didn't think she could.

It took Camicazi another eternal moment to realize she still held his face—and a moment after that to confirm that he wasn't, in fact, pulling away. The silence still thundered at her and her body still shivered with an indescribable charge, but Hiccup stayed. He waited and he wanted with eyes closed and lips slightly parted in—what she interpreted as—an open invitation.

So she kissed him again, and this time she intended it.

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><p>Hiccup is in the...<em>danger zone<em>.

Each chapter will detail events that can be anywhere from hours to weeks to _months_ apart. They will mostly consist of introspection and pivotal decisions in the years following the movie. They will switch between Hiccup and Astrid and Hiccup and Camicazi (see note above). There will be good and bad moments for both relationships.

**Let me know what you think! I'm really interested on characterization thoughts :)**


	2. Coming Clean

**A/N: **Just to remind people, the character category changes with those of the most recent chapter. Enjoy!

**Coming Clean**

"_Oh_—!"

Hiccup swore as suddenly as he fell and so loudly that the nearby Bardison children gasped in horror. He winced; both from the rough snow against his palms and the scowl the Bardison matriarch sent him from across the grounds.

"Sorry," he muttered more to the ground than the old woman.

With a flushed face Hiccup pushed himself back to his feet and rubbed the snow from his trousers and sleeves. His hands stung from braking his fall but he knew he should be grateful less weight fell to his knees. The cold was hard enough on his leg without adding physical trauma.

This was Hiccup's second winter with a prosthetic; he spent the winter of last in indoor therapy with painful nights of cold and fever. This time around proved a little easier on the amputee. A fully healed wound and newly adjusted prosthetic meant he could move faster, a little more sure-footed.

Hiccup took a moment to scope the remainder of his course. A good seven fadmr uphill remained before the ground would level out. The snow was just thick enough to cover every crack, rock and cavity while just hard enough to suffer his weight for a misleading moment before crumbling. More than once Hiccup had put pressure on his booted prosthetic, believing to have found a stone step, only to have his ground give in on him.

Though a treacherous hill to conquer for a one-legged man, Hiccup knew the true challenge lay beyond the climb—a challenge he had to face unaided, as Toothless still slept before the spitting embers of his father's hearth. Hiccup was alone in this. Alone and sore and so heartsick he thought me might lose his meager breakfast on the marches of the Bardison and Hofferson lands.

Steeled, Hiccup lifted his leg, the limb leaden with dread and cold, and concentrated on moving one foot in front of the other for the remainder of his climb. The ascent took forever and yet the hill crested all too fast for his liking. He couldn't seem to catch his breath and he knew it wasn't cold or exhaustion but fear that kept it shallow. His heart thrummed against his sternum and continued to rise in intensity and location until he could feel it in the core of his throat, choking him. He thought he could hear it too, frightfully loud and sudden and slow, until he realized it wasn't his heart but the sound of an axe against wood that kept rhythm.

He fell twice more in that time. Each had sent a burning sensation to numb the bones of his leg so that by the time he stood on level ground an unending throb strummed along his phantom foot.

The pain of his leg fled to the recess of his mind the moment Hiccup's eyes laid upon Astrid. The young woman of sixteen stood before a chopping stump. A small pile of hewn wood mounted at her left while behind her a store of thick logs waned.

Hiccup's stomach twisted again. Guilt and frustration spurred by some wild, impulsive, daring had brought him to this point in the first place. For the umpteenth time that morning Hiccup dearly wished Toothless were around, if only for a bit of assurance. But he wasn't and Hiccup gave himself no other option but to move onward. There would be no going back.

With Astrid in his sight the walk forward seemed more challenging than the climb. Hiccup wanted to slow down his body as his mind raced for an excuse—any excuse—to delay this, to change his own mind, to say something other than what he intended.

The snow grinding under his boots announced his arrival. Astrid looked up from setting another log on the stump. The sun was high enough to lighten the blue of her eyes and a sudden, profound sadness swept over Hiccup. Until that moment it had been guilt, necessity, and discontentment that drove him to this point. The reality of the pains in store, of what he would lose and what he would gain, started to weigh in on him.

Astrid would likely never look at him like that again. She would never see him coming and smile. She hadn't for so long—for most of their lives, though he wished for it nightly—and now he chose to give it all up. Her smiles or adoration...

Hiccup allowed himself a moment to observe her. To meet her eyes and count her freckles and admire the way she carried herself. He learned unlikable things of Astrid in their time together, things deeper than her past dismissals of him or her aggression towards anything she mistrusted, but there were also qualities that made her every bit the treasure he imagined.

There was a moment, a very brief moment in Hiccup's life, where he felt safe around Astrid. Safe from her judgment and hostility. Safe from the indifference that stung worse than blows. It was on the flight back from the nest. Astrid had one hand on his harness and one hand gesturing in the air as she talked freely of their discovery. The awe of flying was still within her; he could feel her uplifted heart and her swooping stomach as richly as his own. She had _listened_ to every response he gave; she cared for his input. They shared a secret. For the first time in many years Hiccup had a human companion with a common interest. Astrid Hofferson was no longer out of reach for him, she was no longer closed off, and Hiccup was presented with the unique opportunity to get to know her: a prospect that excited him, for then he could properly woo her, he could learn about her inside and out, learn her fears and hopes, and know how to treat her.

What more, she could learn about _him_. She could take the time to learn the boy behind the mad inventions, maybe even come to appreciate his passive ways. He would have someone to _talk_ to, just talk. Someone who could talk back. It would start with their secret, the one element tying them together, and ease into an understanding, a friendship, an appreciation...

Then Astrid kissed him. Then she kissed him _again_...and suddenly Hiccup felt like he had to get to know her fast. He no longer felt safe—he felt _rushed_. He felt tense and nervous, though he tried to hide it, and at times undeserving because he _wasn't_ the Viking warrior Astrid deserved. He wanted to keep her impressed because only those who were useful to society could impress Astrid. He had to figure out what she expected from him so that he wouldn't lose her, so that he wouldn't disappoint her.

But he was losing her anyway; he failed to understand her fast enough and by the time he did Toothless had bolstered enough confidence in him not to sell his beliefs for anyone's approval. They now openly disagreed on a subject that was the entire foundation of their relationship, an issue that came to attention almost daily thanks to current events.

It couldn't go on. He was not a boy any more and he would not close his eyes to this. There were some realities even he couldn't fly away from.

So here he stood: a year and three months from that fleeting sensation of safety and hope, feeling more unsafe in Astrid's presence than ever in memory.

He watched her twist her grip on the single-bladed axe. One hand slid up to the neck as she wound back her swing only to return to the handle in the forward heave. The blade sent both halves of the log spinning into the snow.

"Hey," she greeted without pausing in her process. She kicked the fresh cuts towards her firewood pile. "Aren't you supposed to be in the shop?"

Hiccup could not believe he was doing this while she held a blade in her hand. His mouth dried out the moment he tried to speak in a final, protesting instinct.

"I need to talk to you," he managed after a couple swallows.

His words, nor his tone, set any alarm in her. Astrid's focus remained on her chore. She set a new log on the block. Even under two layers of furs, Hiccup could see her back arch in the peak of her upswing before she split the log with great precision.

She reached for another log. "So talk. I have to get this pile done before my dad gets back from the wharf."

Another log divided with mechanic precision. Hiccup watched as she did one, two, three more. He felt dizzy, too hot under his own furs despite the chill that had them donned in the first place. He tried to take a breath but found his lungs near paralyzed in the panic he held at bay.

He had to do this—he _had_ to—but the overwhelming desire to turn tail had sprouted and grew with every log Astrid buried that axe into. It wasn't too late. He could still walk away from this. His life could be so much easier if he just left things as is...

_No_.

Hiccup closed his eyes. He drew a breath and, feeling much like he did the first time he disarmed before a Night Fury, he spoke.

"I kissed Camicazi."

That...wasn't what he meant to say. He meant to ease into this, much as he meant to ease into their relationship. However the words were out and, having said them, Hiccup knew this as first thing his subconscious yearned to unburden.

By rights it was Camicazi who kissed _him_, but he kissed her back. He pulled her closer in their second kiss and he allowed her to push him back on the bed by their third. He was content to ignore the world, the ignorance of his people, and forget about the girlfriend he _hadn't_ kissed in days so long as Camicazi would distract him. Just for a little while.

That was weeks ago. His mind had since cleared, the grief and aggression bated, and the guilt of his weakness mounted by day until Hiccup couldn't stand it. He didn't deserve Astrid. Or maybe it was Astrid who didn't deserve him, to make him feel so vulnerable first place. The line was as wide as it was blurry and he didn't care to put definitions on matters of the heart. This hurt him. _She_ hurt him. He hurt her. There was too much hurt to keep this going.

Astrid shoulders dropped and the axe head dipped in her hold.

"You what?"

The anticipated anger had yet to appear. Astrid struck him as nonplussed, like she had not heard him correctly. Hiccup wet his lips and made a conscious effort to hold his ground for what lie ahead.

"I...that is, we..." He grappled for the right words; he didn't want to hurt her any more than he had to, nor did he like admitting to such indiscretions, but it had to be said. He had to unshoulder this burden he had never foresaw. "Camicazi and I kissed. It—at the last Thing. That's—that's when it...when we kissed."

Saying the words left him feeling vulnerable yet relieved. He would not say how many times they kissed, how he let Camicazi carry on even after his reason awakened, or how Camicazi only extricated herself from him when his father returned, her eyes wide and fearful. She tried to slip out the window then but Hiccup grabbed her wrist and made her sit, stay and talk. The strained relationship with Astrid beset him enough. If Camicazi left...if she stopped talking to him...

Then Toothless would have to deal with a basket case.

Astrid wet her lips. The blue Hiccup admired earlier in her eyes had darkened. She sniffed against the cold, turned back to the log pile, and chose a new target.

Hiccup watched her resume the drudgery, confused and helpless. He didn't understand why she had not yelled at him or why she had not hit him in some fashion. Did she not understand? Did she not _care_?

Hiccup didn't know if he could stomach the thought of her taking the news with such objectivity. He had to provoke some sort of response from her; some feedback to let him know he meant something to her.

"Look—this isn't working—" Hiccup flinched at the force of the next log splitting.

"No," Astrid agreed, slightly out of breath from her activity. She had not seemed so winded a moment ago.

She hewed one more log. Then she took the axe, swung it hard into the cleared chopping stump, and leant a small amount of weight on the upright handle of the axe. A gloved hand came up to swipe the bangs from her eyes.

Hiccup waited and watched and mentally wrung his hands. The yelling still had not come and she hardly looked cross. Just...disappointed.

"No," Astrid said again but this time her voice showed a bit more strength. Her brows furrowed; the anger started to gather. "Relationships don't usually work when someone goes around kissing other girls."

"You're right—I know—"

Astrid cut him off. "Then why did you do it?"

"It...it was a lot of things, I guess. I wasn't really thinking—"

"Was this some round-about way to get out of a relationship with me?"

Hiccup frowned. He could not fault her for being upset about Camicazi—he still waited for the full fury of her injustice—but it wasn't the kiss that brought him to this decision. It only served as the final straw. He had enough backbone not to accept all the blame.

"It wasn't working long before that," Hiccup reminded her.

He wanted to say a lot of things in that moment, things he'd tried to say at the Thing and to his father, points he'd tried to half-argue with her only to give up when faced with obstinacy. He wanted to explain his views all at once, to put all his cards on the table so there would be no misunderstandings between them.

The blonde snorted, wrenched the axe from the block and went for a log.

Hiccup waited a moment to see if she had anything else to say but Astrid appeared intent to resume her work.

"Astrid, you had to have known, or seen, that we weren't getting—"

She swung the axe into the log so hard that one half nearly wheeled into Hiccup.

"So how long has this been going on?" Astrid asked, her voice falsely light. Hiccup didn't have to ask what 'this' was. She was still stuck on the kiss. She had every right to be.

It didn't stop the small twinge of impatience Hiccup felt. He knew he had no right to feel annoyed with anyone but himself; the kiss was a month past and he cursed himself for the fear and shame that delayed his confession. Just the same, the shock of his actions was not so fresh to him and he yearned to move on from it. He wanted to focus on their friendship, on saving it.

Or at least create the one they should have had.

"It was once," he clipped.

Astrid spit into the snow. "Because I didn't kiss you enough?"

"What? No!" The reasoning seemed so ridiculous Hiccup nearly laughed. He didn't; he'd lose his other leg if he laughed then.

"Am I not as attractive as her?"

Baffled, Hiccup shook his head again. "No—that has nothing to do with this—"

"Then why did you do it? _Why would you kiss her_?"

Hiccup leaned back.

Why had he done it? He was upset. So upset he wasn't thinking clearly. But never would he say this to Astrid, because his reasons for feeling upset certainly would not impress her. Feeling upset about a father that _still_ didn't listen, about a village that only sought conflict, about the loneliness—those were unworthy of Viking concern. Certainly not worth betraying a perfectly good relationship over.

Something in his line of thought struck Hiccup hard. He was—

"Lonely."

Astrid arched an eyebrow. "Come again?"

"I'm on my own again here," Hiccup said quietly. His eyes dropped a patch of unbroken snow where the noon sun set rivers of sparkles. "You don't believe what I believe."

For a while she _had_—it was he, Astrid and the dragons against the village. But then…what happened?

Hiccup knew what happened. How could he not after endless nights of analyzing the village's decisions in handling dragons? After worrying himself over a relationship between two acquaintances bridged by a life-changing event?

Astrid had her "in". The rest of the village knew that dragons were not mindless killing beasts, just as she knew, and once more she could follow the mainstream and not be shunned for it. She could shine again, guiltless, her conscience clean. Astrid hated secrets and she wasn't comfortable with speaking out against authority. She would much rather put her efforts into impressions and status and strengthening the village by conventional methods.

Having the eyes' of the village leaders open to the potential alliance between man and dragon returned the opportunity for stardom.

Hiccup shifted his gaze to Astrid and he felt an unpleasant weight lodge in his chest. Here he was, breaking up with her, and she still stood tall and strong, handling the axe as effortlessly as any warrior would. She could have been crying inside for all he knew but she had a sense of Viking Propriety. She _believed_ in it. True Vikings had awesome dragons and were great fliers and could _still_ fight. True Vikings constantly sought to prove themselves and were never content with stagnancy, not when it came to prowess. Astrid fell back into a True Viking because now she could have it all. Now she could look the other way and not feel guilt. Using dragons for war made sense to her, just as warring against them had made sense to her for most of her life, and until he proved it otherwise she had no reason to betray her beliefs again.

Hiccup couldn't look the other way. He wouldn't. Not for this. Not even for her.

Maybe he had changed as well. Maybe, somewhere between the Integration and the notion of expanse, Hiccup had reverted back into his old role much as Astrid had—the Viking that could not conform.

"Not anymore," he murmured. His voice was hollow but his mind was clear. He was alone again, he was alone for this. He had to accept it.

Astrid shook her head. She appeared infinitely more frustrated with him. Her free hand raked through her hair to skew her headband. Splinters of bark jutted from her glove; they snagged at her braid and pulled threads of hair loose.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Her voice started to rise. "You kissed—"

"I don't want to use dragons to expand our lands and attack people," Hiccup exclaimed. It may have been _finally_ seeing the reaction he expected from her, but Hiccup felt his own emotions started to unthread.

He felt stronger and less in control all at once, more sure of his decision. He felt just as sick, just as senselessly terrified of making this choice, but the uncertainty had fled. This was for the best. It had to be. He could not continue to hold his tongue just to keep her from 'shushing' him too much. He would not show bluster in cases where he had nothing to say.

"Hiccup..." Astrid began, already weary with the argument. She wanted to keep talking about this kiss but Hiccup was done with it. He would say his piece and then he would go somewhere where he could properly hyperventilate.

"It's cruel," he told her, as he had told her a hundred times before.

"We're Vikings," she rejoined in her usual argument.

"That's not an excuse." He held up a hand when she looked ready to argue. "It's wrong. They've only been living with us for a year." Again Astrid opened her mouth and Hiccup spoke louder, "And we _still_ don't know everything about them. We've seen them fight but we're learning about their habits everyday. Their different mating cycles. What if dragging them off for war during one of those really messes them up? There's so much we don't _know_."

"These are things we'll find out over time," Astrid pronounced. That was the truth of it as far as any Viking could be concerned. Fight now—consequences later.

His leg must have been overly sensitive, the cold gnawing at it for too long, for her words pained his stump like a scrap against raw bone. Hiccup had his share of consequences; he wouldn't care for any more.

"Not before we make a mistake. We're rushing this. There's too much the dragons can't understand. Not about what we're asking of them." The words came smoothly now; words he could never seem to articulate before his father or his council. "We spent three hundred years at war with them, it's going to take more than a year before we can share goals...before they can understand our rival clans and our enemy clans, the differences in how we'd treat them. We don't know what sort of behaviors it could _lead_ to with them. If it triggers aggressions we aren't prepared for. We still have deaths, misunderstandings—"

"_We're Vikings_!" Astrid barked with a tone that silenced him immediately. "And they're dragons! Deaths will happen. Misunderstandings will happen. Maybe the only way we'll figure things out is if we go out there and see what we're capable of together."

"Why does it have to be so destructive?" Hiccup flared back. It could never make sense to him, the Viking need to persevere. Their manner and methods would never feel _right_ to him. He knew he would no long try to embrace it, just as he knew he could never kill a dragon.

Astrid swung her axe into the stump and relinquished the handle, knowing she wouldn't get any work done so long as Hiccup bombarded her with his senselessness. She took two crunching steps towards him. "It's not destructive it's _progress_! Progress Hiccup! Think of the Meatheads! Think of what they'll be doing with their dragons in time. We need to stay ahead of them—of everyone—because even if _you_ don't want to use dragons for war, _they_ will.

"It's progress Hiccup, and it's for the good of Berk."

"No," Hiccup said solemn and certain. "Progress doesn't mean we keep doing things the old way with more powerful allies. Progress means changing things for the better. There are better ways, I know there are. We just have to try."

By the end he had allowed his voice to turn pleading all the while knowing his words would do nothing to change her views. The only way to change her stubborn mind on anything was to show, not tell. Even so, it felt good to say these things—like they were laying everything out on the table.

Astrid smiled, though it wasn't a kind smile by any means. She looked to the horizon and smiled like she shared a private joke with the skyline.

"You still don't understand your own people, do you?" She intended no response for her derisively delivered question and went on without pause. "We're _Vikings_, Hiccup. Bringing dragons into our lives doesn't change that."

The blood rushing through his ears started to calm. He looked into her eyes, into the blue, but the smile had completely gone from them.

"I know," he said ruefully. "Believe me, I know. I—I don't know what I expected." He had expected losing a leg and destroying the Queen would grant him an easy life in comparison. Neither had prepared him for politics or the many ways reality could be cruel. "We both knew that the war was pointless, but that's where it ends..."

His future looked bleak and unsecure. Depression pressed in on him from every side.

Still, he spoke the words. "This is where we end."

The heat in Astrid's face has frosted and she said in a cool voice. "That, and you kissed that Bog."

"Yeah," Hiccup conceded. "I'm sorry—I really am. I was stupid. I never meant..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "It shouldn't matter, because it's—this—it's over."

Astrid nodded. She shook her head. Then she nodded again. She bit her lip and looked to Hiccup, then the sky, then to Hiccup. Her hands went to her hips. Her arms crossed and uncrossed. She moved everything but her tongue, her face disclosed nothing.

The silence stretched and Hiccup's discomfort grew. An acute wind blustered in place of Astrid's response. It rustled their furs, nipped their ears and dusted their faces with sharp powder. Never had Berk seemed so desolate or bitter or colorless.

_'This is how it will end'_, Hiccup thought with cold revelation. _'With her silence and my retreat.'_

Misery welled in his chest, heavy and bilious. Hiccup turned toward the very footpath he came from, now burdened by a new turmoil.

"So this is it?" Astrid called to him at the sound of his first step. "You're ending this because you don't want to try?"

Hiccup may have noted the thin desperation in her goad, but the words reached his ears just when he saw Toothless plod up from the bottom of the hill. His knees nearly buckled in relief; he could not cover the entire grounds on foot for his exit. He was exhausted in ways he didn't know could be felt.

He turned and drank in her sight one more time.

"I _have_ been trying. But what's the point if its not working?"

Astrid released a sharp breath. For the first time Hiccup saw a wounded, physical reaction.

"What's the point?" Her voice shook and her expression spoke of betrayal. Hiccup could see her losing face. For the first time he caught a glimpse of the same pain he felt and he found a twisted comfort in knowing more than his dishonesty upset her.

"Do you really think it's worth it?" He asked. The quiet of his voice took him off guard, like he had unintentionally whispered. "Have you been happy?"

They hadn't become strangers. They _were_ strangers. They started dating without knowing the others hopes or dreams or beliefs. They had assumptions and impressions and a life-changing moment but nothing else.

Hiccup shook his head. His mind felt clear, he could see exactly what they had become. He had been so involved, so excited and terrified, that he did not foresee the consequences in dating the "girl of his dreams". He had not planned or anticipated as he travelled this road and he now suffered for it.

Astrid was not in his dreams. She was real—too real—and not ready to relinquish her Viking ways just as he was not ready to embrace them. Not when their village endeavored toward a new era of conquest. The timing was all wrong for them.

Even so...why was it _he_ who took this step, and not her? Astrid had to have seen months ago that he wasn't going to change, that he had only been a hero when a hero was needed. He learned the hard way not to seek glory...

Hiccup only grew more certain of his views and she hers. He let it go on for so long because a part of him feared to let go of her, she was still strong, striking and determined to be a figurehead. But why did she? He had nothing left to give, nothing to impress her with, not without denouncing his own beliefs.

"What did you ever see in me in the first place?"

The words hung in the air for a beat, more chilled than any winter wind and every bit as caustic. Hiccup saw the frustration and sorrow and disbelief on Astrid's face slowly dry until she once again appeared impassive.

"It doesn't matter," she said. She turned away from him, back to the chopping block. Without her distracting, glacial stare Hiccup could hear the waver in her voice. "It's gone."

He felt helpless when Astrid resumed her wood chopping. Her rhythm returned as though it were never interrupted, her face blank, but her downswings heavier.

Warmth touched the back of Hiccup's neck and ruffled his hair and he knew Toothless stood at his back. He could not leave—not like this. He had wanted to remain friends. He could save this. _He had to save this._

Astrid grunted with her next cleaving and more hair fell from her braid to cover her face.

He could not stay either.

Hiccup touched Toothless' nose and met the wide-pupiled eyes. Hiccup felt vibrations beneath his hand; the Night Fury read his distress and weakness and in return sent a silent purr to reassure him.

The young man managed a feeble smile by way of gratitude. "Come on bud. Let's find some place warm."

The dragon wasn't saddled but Hiccup could still move faster upon four legs than one and a half. He mounted his dragon's neck without looking back. He hadn't the strength to. Not when Astrid's axe split the next log with a crack of thunder, not even when the chopping stopped altogether.

Hiccup swore he heard the first hitch of breath to precede a sob, but by then Toothless had taken off across the hill.

_'A chief feels no pain,'_ he incanted in his mind. _'A chief feels no fear.'_

His heart felt heavier and heavier as his distance from Astrid grew. He wanted to sleep. To dream and wake up and find that he still had a girlfriend, that he didn't have to face each day wondering how many people would still listen to him. Hear him. _See_ him.

_'A chief must be above weak personal feelings.'_

Hiccup thought of Astrid's face as he last saw it—hidden behind her fallen hair, creased in heartache—and was shocked at how quickly his throat tightened in response.

It hurt. _Gods_ it hurt. It was a smart decision in the long run, he would be thankful for it in the future, but it wasn't the future _now_.

Now, he had to suffer.

**######## ########**

* * *

><p>Writing a break-up scene between a rather controversial couple is more dangerous territory for me to cover. I just can't seem to play it safe with this.<p>

I am going for realism. No one is to be bashed in this fic, no one is to be shown favoritism. I am making these characters as canon-based as I can and that requires being impartial. I am working their movie-characters into, what I believe is, the most believable course. (GotNF was adorable but, seriously, cookie-cutter relationships just have no depth).

If you disagree, if you find some serious inconsistencies with their behavior, talk to me about it. I want to get this right.

**Another reminder:** The chapters cover events anywhere from days to weeks to months apart. They detail specific events, pivotal moments, and key decisions of Hiccup. There will be some chapters that are more introspection than anything else just so everyone can be on the same emotional level as the characters. Personally, I'm not a fan of the 'telling over showing' method, but it's going to have to do for some of these.

Please let me know what you think!


	3. Coming to Grips

****A/N: **Just to remind people, the character category changes with those of the most recent chapter. Enjoy!**

**Coming to Grips**

Hiccup hadn't wanted to land. He wanted to keep flying, to stay in the sky where the wind screamed in his ears so he could not think and the cold clawed his face until he felt nothing else, but Toothless would not have it. The dragon twisted his body into a dive that forced Hiccup to comply, and the boys settled on the flat, sandless beach of Giant's Causey, already cleared of snow by the waves lapping at its shore.

A multitude of pastel-colored Terrors were perched on the protruding sea columns with heads cocked and eyes seeking fish before Toothless even touched ground. The island was infested with Terrors—miles of interlocked volcanic rock left perfect-sized nesting holes for the pack dragons—but it had too much sentimental value for either male to mind the creeping scavengers.

Hiccup slipped from the saddle. Already the soothing effects of wind and height waned. His legs quivered under the weight of his body, his stomach plummeted with the landing and his head suffered. Waves folded along the shoreline, gulls and Terrors called to him, Toothless moaned and yammered at his side, all of it sounding leagues away.

It was not until a suited tail nudged him into motion did Hiccup realized he had been staring over the ocean, northbound to Berk.

To where he just left his...to where he left Astrid.

"I—yeah, it's fine bud."

Toothless '_whumphed'_ again and knocked his tail against the ground. Two skulking Terrors scattered back.

'_No you __**aren't**__' _the dragon seemed to say, and Hiccup found his heart in agreement. He felt something squeezing his chest and it wouldn't let go. The final wisps of exhilaration cleared from his mind, his last anchor of stability, and the vacancy in his gut began to fill with apprehension, pumping and pounding.

Hiccup could see white-crested waves fall upon the shore in circuit, he could see the wind cuff the sea in sprays and brush sands across the strand, but the blood rushing in his ears superseded the sounds of his surroundings.

"What did I—?" he breathed out with his next exhalation. "What did I _do_?"

He just broke up with his girlfriend—with _Astrid—_

Toothless growled louder. He nipped the corner of Hiccup's vest and pulled until the boy turned away from the ocean.

The loss of scenery did little to bring Hiccup's attention outward again. He watched, mute, as his dragon circle a flattened patch of stone, kneading the loose gravel with his paws, before settling. Toothless locked eyes with Hiccup and needled the boy with that impressive stare until Hiccup yielded and moved to lie against him.

The "thanks bud" went unsaid. Hiccup expressed his gratitude by burrowing his weight beneath Toothless' elbow. The hide felt as cracked and warm as the sun-baked rocks and the human welcomed it. Farther away from Astrid, from the heat of their argument, Hiccup felt cold.

"What did I do?" The words struck Hiccup's tongue again. He couldn't seem to stop the mantra no matter how redundant or useless. It likely wouldn't stop until an answer followed.

Hiccup didn't understand. He was away from Berk, away from Astrid, so why hadn't his heart stopped throbbing? Pumping blood that couldn't warm his body. His whole head felt hot in contrast to the cold within. He couldn't seem to form any coherent sentence, not within his mind and certainly by his mouth. There were only feelings: uncertainty and fear, disappointment and self-loathing and resignation. It all festered in the nook of his throat and the pit of his stomach, fostering unease. He had to get it out somehow. Flying helped, his core physical outlet, but he needed something more. He needed to express it.

Hiccup lifted his vest and reached for the pocket lining its interior. His fingers grasped at his other remedy in desperation. Soon his newest notebook was in his hand, his charcoal stick already dirtying his finger and thumb.

If saying the words did nothing to settle his mind and nerves, then he would write them. He would write exactly _what_ he did and _why _he did it.

And so Hiccup wrote among the creeping Terrors and valley of basalts. He wrote the pros and cons of his choice, and notes about everything in between. He wrote regrets and hopes. He wrote of his morning impulsiveness and the apprehension of many weeks past. He kept writing until he wasn't sure what he wrote, but he wrote it. It was a confession of sorts—a plea—and, somewhere, halfway through the shortness of breath and the unending second-guessing of himself, it turned into a letter. A letter to someone who he _wanted_ to understand.

Toothless watched Hiccup's charcoal stick move across the paper in that precise and delicate way only humans could manage. He understood basic human tongue for the most part (though gestures helped). Picture-speak was a tricky thing, yet easier to comprehend than Noise-speak. Pictures didn't change with emotion or situations; Pictures were the same, always the same, just arranged in different orders. Hiccup exposed Toothless to Pictures often enough for the dragon to comprehend the purpose of the Picture Hiccup made now.

His boy was sad and he needed help that Toothless could not give him.

Toothless startled when Hiccup stopped writing only to wrest the page from the book with unexpected drive. The sheet was crunched into a ball and thrown towards the sea with equal verve. The wind caught it before it could start on its descent and the wad of parchment was thrown towards a cluster of Terrors. They scattered, though only for a moment; the scavengers came sniffing back, perhaps hoping it was food.

Toothless blinked at the balled Picture. He looked back to Hiccup, who stared across the sea with stormy features. His boy made _no _sense.

Hiccup pressed his palms into his eyes and groaned, sensing—and ignoring—the stare.

"What am I doing? I'm such an idiot—I'm such a—argh! _Frigga!_" Hiccup's head bowed and his hands moved to grip his hair by the fistful.

Why would he even _write_ that? Why should he tell _her _anything? This had nothing to do with her—aside from the kiss. But that kiss was only the final straw, the salve to months' worth of frustrations. It was the touch that quelled the ripples of a pond only to leave a clear solution, not the ice in the cracks that tore down a mountain.

Camicazi played her part in spurring Hiccup forward in his life. He took the first painful step out of his rut and toward brighter horizons. He still needed something stable to latch onto, but not her. He had no business asking anything more of her.

Hiccup laid his head back against Toothless and closed his eyes. He sighed as his cheeks soaked in the sun. Spring would be upon them in two months time. By then he hoped to be back on his feet in every sense of the phrase.

Toothless first cast a glance towards the resting human, then he lowered his earfins, dipped his head, and gently growled at an orange-scaled Terror. It yammered back. The Night Fury nudged his snout towards the balled parchment rocking gently in the sea breeze.

Hiccup cracked one eye open to stare at his best friend.

"What are you so chatty about?"

Toothless ignored Hiccup; he kept his eyes fixated on the smaller dragon and gave two short growls. The Terror stilled. Then his head jerked to the parchment, to Hiccup, to Toothless, and back to the parchment. It chirped once. Toothless exhaled sharply from his nostrils.

Without another sound, without any further perplexing behavior, the Terror took the beige paper in its talons and launched into the sky.

Had his mind been any clearer, Hiccup would have been jotting down notes at a barely-legible speed. Instead, he experienced a moment of stunned disbelief; his wonder at the dragon-communication shattered the moment the Terror took off. He reached towards the airborne reptile a moment too late, his tongue caught in his throat.

"Hey!" he called when his wits caught up. "Hey —_stop—!_" Hiccup had sat up from Toothless but he knew chasing after the Terror was futile. The dragon had already become a speck in the clouded sky. He turned on the Night Fury. "What—what's happening? Where is he going?"

Toothless blinked at him. His pupils had gone huge and his earfins perked to show mild interest in whatever Hiccup was saying. A vexed growl carried from the base of Hiccup's throat and he turned back to the horizon, where the Terror had disappeared completely.

It could have dropped the letter into the ocean for all Hiccup knew (and hoped), or it could have taken it to his father (and what an earful he would get for _that_), but something told Hiccup that letter was going to its intended recipient.

"Who is that going to?" he demanded again of Toothless. "Camicazi? Is it? Is it Cami—? Oh—oh gods," Hiccup moaned into his hands. A fresh coat of panic set in. "That needs to be stopped. Bring it back. Make another one bring it back. I need to—why would I even write...? Oh, what was I _thinking_?"

Toothless continued to stare, unabashed, and Hiccup realized it was futile. The letter was out. He grimaced.

"Oh, come on, I shouldn't bother her with this. It's going to look so bad if..." he sighed. "No...no, it shouldn't matter. Why should it matter? Who cares? She shouldn't care—Camicazi will just think I'm being a crybaby. The village won't care. Word will get around soon enough that I'm not dating Astrid and...and..."

His stomach soured.

Would he ever find anyone beside Astrid? How does a guy move on from _that?_

Hiccup returned to his rest against Toothless, his movements first stiff and poised by anger, but a low warble from the Night Fury and Hiccup slackened in defeat. He reached up and rubbed the crust of Toothless' brow.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I just...I feel so weird now. I don't know what I'm saying. I know I'll be fine—_we'll_ be fine—I'm just afraid thing's are going to be so different now. Maybe it'll be bad kind of different too. Maybe I just took a step backwards. After everything that happened...what if I'm on my own again?"

Toothless curled his lip and released a light snarl.

"No, no, bud," Hiccup was quick to amend. "I know I have _you_. I meant in the "people" sense. Humans." Satisfied, Toothless settled his chin back to the ground. Hiccup carried on, but in softer tones. "What if I'm on my own around humans? Not that—er—it's not...it's not that I'm afraid of being _alone,_ it's just..."

Yet, as he said them, the words struck Hiccup as having some intangible weight. He may not have liked it but he was _used_ to his 'loner' status—so much so that the transition from outcast to Hero had been hard. He lost time to himself he had never appreciated before. When no one cared about what he did, when they would rather leave him to his own devices than _deal_ with him, Hiccup had the freedom and comfort to pursue personal endeavors. Responsibility and expectations left him fettered to Berk and her people. The _eyes_ held him down more than anything else—the eyes of the village and the eyes of his father, always watching and judging and waiting...

But with his new standing came good things as well, interactions Hiccup never knew he missed. Trust, inside jokes and high jinks. _Praise_. He had even gotten used to eating with people.

In spite of it all, maybe there was a comfort in his acceptance that he wasn't willing to abandon yet.

Maybe he stayed with Astrid for so long because he was afraid of being alone? Without her the other kids might stop talking to him, the adults might stop _listening_ to him. Maybe no one would take him seriously because Astrid's presence gave him credence. Maybe she was the only reason his peers followed him on dragonback to the nest all those months ago...

_No_, Hiccup thought, furious with himself. Despite how it may affect his status in the village, he liked Astrid beyond her social boons. There were plenty of things he liked about her. He just...it was too much. He wasn't ready for her. He couldn't be who she expected him to be. Not with his leg and status and responsibilities and floundering courage that she alternated in damaging and boosting.

Hiccup snorted.

What had he expected? That the boy from the blacksmith would keep Astrid Hofferson's attention? That the boy who liked to doodle and fly would keep her entertained? That they would live happily ever after—with Astrid turning out to be magically compassionate and tolerant and understanding of every unviking-like quirk he possessed?

Hiccup absently rubbed his knuckles against Toothless' jaw.

He wasn't a Viking hero underneath it all. Whatever she saw in him stopped at dragons. It went no further.

She said so herself.

Hiccup's heart grew heavy. As did his eyes. He didn't want to move, he didn't want to think, and he didn't want to feel. He had exhausted himself: through flying and writing and ranting and brooding. He could finally rest.

They were in a warm patch of sun laid across his body and it felt great. The only thing that felt good at the moment...

"We'll head back later..." he decided in a whisper as his eyelids dipped. Back to the village and restlessness, where the undoubted reactions to his decision awaited him.

When Hiccup opened his eyes next he was surprised to find the sun a great deal lower that it was last.

He was more surprised that _she_ came.

His mouth opened. He meant to say 'hey' or 'what are you doing here' but the letter clutched in her fist held his words captive.

Camicazi settled her weight on her hip, lifted the rumpled parchment, and grinned at him as though they were ten again, back when they only worried over limpets and scuffles.

"I came to help the damsel in distress," she said by way of salutation.

Hiccup's jaw worked, his mind still seeking words. The shock of her arrival and the sting of the letter continued to keep his wits in suspense. He continued to stare, even as the moment to address her passed. He didn't get up to greet her either. He felt too shaky—too shamed—like the presence of another human reminded him of the mess beyond those shores.

Stormfly scuttled forward first and bumped her beak against Hiccup's cheek in greeting. His hand lifted belatedly, just brushing her hide as she moved to curl next to Toothless.

Hiccup took a breath, swallowed, and forced his throat into motion.

"I—" He gestured helplessly at the letter. "I don't...I'm sorry." It was all he could think to say.

_Sorry he involved her. Sorry she had to see him like this._

"It's fine," Camicazi returned. The grin never left her face. "You're in luck—I had nothing better to do."

"Sorry," Hiccup mumbled again, this time to his knees. His discomfort continued to mount. His face was red—he could feel it—and he prayed to Odin it was because he spent too much time in the sun.

He missed Camicazi's frown. He missed her shoulders falling from their proud stance. Hiccup was so mortified that he missed the stretch of silence that passed in the absence of his expected response.

The confidence Camicazi arrived with waned with every unspoken word until she was left to fiddle with the hem of her tunic and to worry her lip.

"Things aren't weird between us, are they?" she finally said. There was a dullness to her voice, as though this were a truth she forced herself to consider but had hoped against it anyway.

"No," Hiccup said a little too quickly, lifting his head.

His response did nothing to soothe her. Camicazi didn't brighten or smile or move to sit down with him. She remained standing, fingering the letter in her hand, looking every bit as uncertain as he felt. Her lack of confidence granted Hiccup some.

He pushed himself to his feet. His prosthetic scraped against the rocks.

"It's not weird," he asserted again. Thor's beard, the _last_ thing he wanted was to upset _two_ girls in one day.

Camicazi raised the parchment.

"Really?" she said sounding unconvinced. "Because 'not weird' seems to have caused some problems for you."

Hiccup snatched the letter from her hands, crushed it in his fist, and threw it at Toothless, all the while ignoring Camicazi's indignant protests.

"Hey, buddy, would you mind?" he asked the Night Fury. He directed his stare to the letter, leaving heavy implications to what he wanted done.

The Night Fury gazed impassively at the abused note, wholly unimpressed with the request.

Hiccup scowled. "After that stunt you just pulled—"

Toothless spat a small flame and in within two blinks of the eye the incriminating note had been reduced to ash.

Camicazi snorted at the blackened pile, though her spirits seemed to have been lifted.

"Destroy the evidence all you want. I've got the memory of a Slitherhawk." She tapped the side of her head. Her eyes twinkled in her jest and for a brief moment Hiccup felt unimaginable envy towards her lightheartedness. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so blithe with the world. He had too many concerns eating at his conscience and pressing at his temples.

Hiccup eyed Camicazi, noting how her face went unlined by worry, even as an heir herself, and wondered after her secret.

She already read the letter—a jumble of confessions and secrets, some of which had nothing to do with the break up. He could talk to her, share his concerns.

"Camicazi," Hiccup began slowly, prepared for ridicule or rejection out of habit. "What...what do you think of the dragons?"

The Bog immediately looked to their dragons.

"I think they can fly...?" she said slowly, confusion evident on her face.

Hiccup knew he should have elaborated more.

"No, I mean about using them," he modified. It did little to clear her bewilderment.

"Er—they're great for travel. And Stormfly has definitely expanded my burgling grounds."

"What about for war?" Hiccup said with even more direction.

"War?" Camicazi echoed.

Compelled, Hiccup turned to look at their dragons as well. Both were curled on the sun-heated rocks, tails overlapping their faces in typical dragon-nap fashion. The dragons were so close that Toothless' earfins and Stormfly's antennae would occasionally touch, only to send each appendage into a twitching fit. Hiccup didn't know if it were nerves or if the dragons were, in fact, involved in some manner of communication. He didn't know if he'd have the time to ever find out.

"Dragons once attacked villages," he reminded her of their darker days. "_Vikings_ would attack villages too. Neither are strangers to war. If they're combined...if Vikings were to start attacking each other using dragons..."

Hiccup's imagination drew forth a fiery wasteland. The archipelagoes ravaged by the rage of two races, burned from the inside out. Berk had barely survived in the last couple years against the Green Death. That was when they were united with their neighboring villages. When greed became too much, when the allure of lands and wealth drove Vikings against one another, what would become of them?

"I don't know what to tell you, Hiccup," Camicazi said. She managed to sound both remorseful and placating without showing too much concern. "I'd say that'd never happen but..."

She ended her sentence in a shrug. Hiccup supposed he should have been grateful that she hadn't outright told him he was being a moron for worrying over things he would likely never change anyway.

Yet Hiccup continued to voice his worries to her, because for once it felt nice to speak to a human who wouldn't sigh excessively and immediately dismiss his ideas.

"Do you think the Meatheads are really mobilizing to attack the Murderous Tribe?"

"Oh, is that what they're saying?" Camicazi seemed mildly interested at this bit of news. A typical Bog attitude, whose tribe usually managed to stay out of the center scuffle in any altercation.

"Berk thinks so," said Hiccup, recalling the last Thing. "The Meatheads might be asking for our help. If the Murderous tribe catches wind of it beforehand they can hit first. They don't have as many dragons, for sure, but no one wants the Murderous Tribe targeting them anyhow."

Camicazi scoffed. "They're not so tough," she blustered in a knee jerk reaction. She gave the claim a moment's thought and added, "Once you take away their weapons...and their bloodlust."

Hiccup's frowned deepened.

"Which will be great when combined with dragons," he said caustically.

This time, Camicazi looked apologetic. "If it's any help, most of them are still stuck in the old ways. The Meatheads, too. They don't have so many dragons. If war is coming, then it's a long way off—Oh!" Camicazi gasped. She punched her fist into her palm as a thought struck her. "Hey, I know! Why don't you talk to their heir about it? What's his name again? Hugglory?"

"Thuggory?" Hiccup straightened from his slouch. Thuggory of the Meatheads. An older boy, one who usually couldn't be bothered with Hiccup, and expected to overtake Mogadon as the Meathead chief.

Camicazi snapped her fingers at the name. "Yeah, that big guy. He wasn't half-bad to you, if I remember," she pointed out, as though tracing his very thoughts.

"No, he wasn't..." Hiccup murmured. He felt about as comfortable with talking to Thuggory as he used to with his peers before the Integration. While Thuggory wasn't _mean_ to him, and even sent him an esteemed nod every once in a blue moon, Hiccup was under no illusions the sort of impression he left on any of the heirs.

Although, his reputation had begun to change after the Integration, beyond even the Sullen Sea.

Geographically close to Berk, the Meatheads were among the first to begin taking on dragons as companions. While mostly the just the elite for now, _surely,_ that would give him an 'in' with the boy...

"But that's not why you're here, freaking out, though, is it?"

Camicazi's voice did more than question—it alerted Hiccup to his inattention for the current conversation. Potential alliance terms could be thought about later.

"I'm not freaking out," he automatically replied. He wasn't. He felt too sick to freak out. Sluggish.

Camicazi squinted at him in appraisal. "Yes you are."

Hiccup sighed and pulled his hand through his hair. He didn't know why he bothered lying to her.

"Look. I'm sorry, for putting you in this position," Camicazi said.

Hiccup stared at her.

"What?" he asked blankly.

Camicazi pursed her lips and looked him in annoyance. "_I_ was the one who kissed you, remember?" Her leg jittered under her weight, betraying her discomfort. "So I'm sorry for ruining your relationship with Astiff...or whatever her name is."

The apology sounded weird to Hiccup. Astrid had never apologized. Astrid didn't like to look back—not on mistakes, not even on victories. She was always moving forward, unreflective.

She probably hadn't spent her day stewing over the breakup as he had.

"It's fine," he muttered to the cracked ground. He didn't bother to correct Camicazi's name blunder. "It was for the best, I think. The problems were—well, there were problems."

Too many without definition.

Camicazi laughed humorlessly.

"Yeah, so many problems you wrote a novel. You know I'm barely literate, right?" she said, half-joking.

Hiccup saw Camicazi's shadow reaching for his prostatic and he looked up to see the sun rest against the skyline. The muted light outlined Camicazi's silhouette with an orange glow, shading her features and highlighting the wild strands of her hair.

She was pretty, he realized. Hiccup knew Camicazi as fun and frustrating and bold, as any Viking born and bred in the North could be, but never did he look upon her and acknowledge her as attractive. She had change sometime over the last couple of years. While he slaved in the blacksmith and pined after Astrid and worked to stop a war, Camicazi had grown up.

"I-I'm sorry," he stuttered, caught off guard by the revelation. "I shouldn't have...I don't know what I was doing."

Camicazi smiled, completely oblivious to the shift in his attention.

"You're so needy, you know that?" she didn't say it to be insulting. She stated it as a rueful fact. "Just so _damn_ needy. I wouldn't expect anything less from a boy."

He met her eyes, suddenly desperate, unable to join in her amusement.

"What would _you_ do in this situation?" he asked. It was what he really wanted to know. It was all he really cared about in that moment.

How could he make himself feel normal again? Not agitated or sick or remorseful or scared.

"I would never put myself in that situation to begin with," Camicazi reminded him. Her words were abrupt, frank—almost reproachful—but she looked at him with pity nonetheless.

"Ah, right," Hiccup grumped. "You Bogs don't _do_ relationships."

Camicazi tilted her head from side to side. "We do and we don't. We certainly wouldn't be _living_ so close to someone we're involved with. That's just a recipe for a mess when you need to get out."

Hiccup smiled, though it never reached his eyes.

"It must be nice," he murmured. "You can go wherever you want."

He took a step closer. He could smell the ocean salt in her hair.

If Camicazi had noticed his movement, she didn't show it. She stood her ground and kept her eyes locked on his.

"Now I can. Thanks to you. Saddling a dragon is much stealthier and faster than travelling by sea."

Hiccup looked down at her, hardly aware of their height difference and how it wasn't always so. He looked at her lips, at the sheen the setting sun glossed them in, and thought of the respite they once granted his heart before. Maybe if he kissed her again he'd stop feeling like this. The guilt and confusion, hopeless and helpless.

He didn't have a girlfriend—he hadn't for the better part of the day by this point. He could kiss Camicazi and there wouldn't be anything _morally_ wrong with it this time...

Aside the fact that he was thinking of kissing another girl so soon after breaking up.

Camicazi must have noticed him staring at her lips. Her smile slipped for a moment before returning archly.

"Kissing me won't fix your girlfriend problem."

Hiccup frowned. "I don't need a girlfriend—I don't," he insisted at her expression. "I have too much I need to figure out now."

Like where his morals lie. Like where he stood in the village _without_ Astrid at his side.

"Find your position on it—whatever this big problem is—and then stand firm," Camicazi said as though it were common sense. "Like what you did with Toothless."

Hiccup resisted the temptation to look back at their dragons.

"And then make my tribe listen to me," he said. He couldn't go back to being ignored. His opinions were already falling out of favor. The break-up with Astrid would only lose him more sympathy. "And then make _other_ tribes listen to me."

The sarcasm was there to paint the hopelessness he should have felt, and yet...Hiccup felt strangely enlightened. As though, in some roundabout way, Camicazi had reminded Hiccup _why_ he broke up with Astrid. He couldn't fight this new agenda with a girlfriend who advocated it, not successfully. Yes, it would be different, it would be difficult, but _this_ was what he needed to do. He didn't free the dragons from one form of slavery only to unwittingly deliver them into another. He brought them into the human's world; he needed to represent them, to defend them when they could not defend themselves.

And Camicazi brought up a point that Hiccup had previously overlooked—a game-changing point: seek favor _outside_ of Berk. He never had the means before.

After all, if he was to take over Berk as chief someday, he'd be damned if he inherited a mess of war and broken alliances.

Camicazi lifted her hand and touched the back of her knuckles to Hiccup's face. Thoughts of alliances and war scattered from his mind at the moment of contact.

"You're a mess," she said. Maybe she could feel the heat of his cheek—burning out of embarrassment or heart-sickness.

"I know," he said.

Hiccup wanted to lean into the touch, but his brow only furrowed in dismay when she removed her hand.

"You want to kiss me," she also pointed out.

"I know."

Camicazi smiled. Her palms went to his chest, sliding up the rough fabric, fingers stealing under his vest and up to his neck, where they wove around the length of his hair.

Hiccup closed his eyes in a final effort to think clearly, but it only made him more aware of Camicazi. Shorter than Astrid. Smaller hands. A different smell, a different taste. Hair so wild it touched his cheeks and shoulders in a haunting caress.

He opened his eyes and said, "I'm _going_ to kiss you."

Camicazi smiled the softest, most un-Viking smile Hiccup had ever seen grace her lips. He hardly recognized her.

"I know."

Hiccup fisted the thick of her hair behind her head and pulled her mouth to his. He felt it—he felt exactly what he wanted to feel—he felt his mind blank out and the emptiness in his chest fill with a singing, swooping sensation. Camicazi sighed into his mouth. Her fingers clutched at his tunic beneath his vest raked the fabric against his back.

Their bottom lips broke for a breath and Hiccup felt reality's cold fingers at his back. He held her tighter, one arm bracing her hips flush against his, desperately keeping the world at bay. These kisses were as potent as numbing herbs, as addictive as flying and every bit as dangerous.

Berk could wait. His father and Astrid and his peers could wait. The _dragons_ could wait. He needed a break. He needed a breath. Just for this moment he would put the world out of mind for a little longer, and he would heal.

**######## ########**

* * *

><p>Third chapter's done! And this one's unique in that it comes right after the last, no time skip. It's all editted by me and rather poorly at that. Sorry!<p>

*Giant's Causey (or Giant's Causeway to the common tongue) is the place where Hiccup and Toothless landed after their test flight. It's located in Norther Ireland.

I know I'm covering all sorts of dangerous territory here, what with all the drama and angst and an honest take on realistic behaviors. Heavy introspection and the like are generally out of my comfort zone, which has made these last couple chapters such a challenge to write. But that's half the fun too ;). Seriously, kudos to anyone following this!

So tell me what you think. Am I still hitting all the characters? Are their interactions believable? Their reasonings?


	4. Changing Tune

******A/N: **Just to remind people, the character category changes with those of the most recent chapter. Enjoy!****

**Changing Tune**

A bellow thundered across the stone floors of Berk's Meade Hall to shake dust from the rafters and rattle goblets, the likes of which would have loosened the bowls of any Southerner. For the Vikings of Berk, however, it was no more than a grunt of frustration.

Burnthair drove both fists into the Great Table to call for attention. "Are yeh _mad_? These lands are told tae have the richest soils north of the Outcast Lands!" He swept his hand over the wetlands of the Dragon's Nose. "We _have_ tae go after it!"

"But _these_," Hashtag slammed a fat finger against the oil-stained map, "these 'ere lands have gold! Hidden in the grounds, I hear!"

"He _'hears'_ o' lot," Spitelout grunted to his brother beneath the squabbling scene. "Nae sure how reliable _rumors_ are."

Stoick conceded the point with a subtle nod. "Aye, though Hashtag manages tae find the right rumors more often than nae."

"Eh, I'll give him that..."

"It's the _land_ that's more profitable," Burnthair boomed to the rest of the Hall. "'N' the Visithugs are thinkin' o getting' it!" His argument received several outcries, some in favor, some not.

"Aye, but we could _buy_ that land with the _gold_," Hashtag countered once again.

Hiccup stepped back. He took another step, and another, slinking between thick bodies and thicker beards. The meeting had been going in circles for the better part of an hour now and his nerves couldn't take much more of it. The shouting camouflaged the clink of his prosthetic against stone and his slender stature allowed him to move through the crowd without disturbing too many people. He kept his head ducked and avoided making eye contact until he made it to the door.

Something compelled him to look up just as he braced his palm against the door, and with the horrible timing Hiccup had come to expect in his life, his father happened to be the only Viking to look his way. Their eyes connected for a breath. Then Hiccup stole outside before the chief could give any indication that he must remain. He skirted around the perpetually ajar door to put the mind-numbing meeting behind him and took a deep breath of sweat-free air.

Another day, another quarrel, another moment of feeling invisible. He would hear it from his father, of this Hiccup had no doubt, but castigation was so much easier to swallow than the acute sting of uselessness. At least out here, away from the shackles of propriety and status, he could be proactive.

"Hey," a voice greeted him from his left. "Did they decide?"

Hiccup startled and stumbled by thoughtless reaction. His head whipped around to face the familiar voice.

Astrid pushed up from her rest against an unlit brazier and approached him. She had been waiting for him.

_Waiting for the _decision_,_ he thought harshly to himself, _not him_; they weren't together anymore. At least she still had a reason to speak to him, strained as things were. They had progressed to nods and pleasantries since the first awkward weeks after the break up. Even now, Astrid gave him a tight smile as she waited for him to answer.

Hiccup coughed and straightened.

"Ah, hey..."

His uneasy greeting tapered off as his attention flittered elsewhere. Something was different. Hiccup knew the moment he focused on her. It could have been his past fixation with her that tipped him off so quickly, how often he used to stare at her, but his eyes were immediately drawn to her forehead where a new headband pressed against her hair—clean and shiny and darker than before. Her old one had begun to wear, a detail he had noted back when they were together; his fingertips would feel the cracked leather every time he brushed her bangs from her eyes.

Hiccup felt his throat dry out. He had thought about giving her a new one himself for a time—_so_ many times—but he never got around to it. He always assumed there would be time for that, that their future was set...

Someone else had beaten him to it.

Hiccup had heard the rumors for nearly a week: both Grund and Larklungs now openly asked after Astrid. One would be seen walking her home from the Meade Hall; another would bring her pumice stones for buffering her Nadder's scales. Hiccup had no idea how receptive she was to their advances—

His eyes flicked up to the headband.

...Well he _did_, but he turned a deaf ear and a blind eye to it.

_Blind eyes_. Hiccup glanced over his shoulder to the meeting he just walked out on. Soon, that's what his life would be. That's what Berk wanted. They wanted their traditions and their rituals. They wanted dragons too, but they were less about compromise than Hiccup had hoped for. Vikings would go on pursuing conflict with their shiny new weapons. They would go on ignoring the slave rings and the progress outside of the Archipelagoes, and stubbornly continue their barbaric practices until Ragnarök.

Hiccup had no doubt that the land they quibbled over in the Meade Hall wouldn't have crossed anyone's mind if they hadn't first heard the Visithugs were after it. Soon others would be after it too because, in the Viking world, if it was worth interest to anyone, it was worth fighting over.

But Hiccup wouldn't be idle. Not this time. They might ignore him when his expressions were unpopular, but he wouldn't be ignored—not beyond the shores of Berk.

He had spoken to Thuggory as Camicazi suggested. Tracked him down, offered him some flying tips, and breached the subject of the dragon-alliance future. Thuggory was young enough to bond more strongly with a dragon. The less experience in the war, the more open humans were to bonding with dragons. The younger generations _would_ resist the bullheaded aggression of their forbearers if their parents didn't brainwash them first. Hiccup was sure of it.

_'Our time is coming,'_ he said to the older boy, _'when you and me and the next generation of chiefs will be in charge. Who says we have to wait for our parents to die or pass it on? We can start building our world now.'_

At the time it was a moment of passion but he drew resolve from his own words. He was finding his footing once more. He had shown the village he _was_ capable of competence and it was enough for their confidence. It changed the game for him, it opened opportunities he never before saw as an option. He _wouldn't_ inherit a broken system. There were things he was and wasn't willing to do, things that didn't always line up with the Viking code, and he would not compromise his morals. Tradition could be wrong and it could be changed. Toothless taught him that.

"Hiccup?"

Hiccup's gaze, which had fallen to a patch of weeds growing between the cracks of the mountain steps, lifted back to Astrid. That headband was at eye-level with him—bright and mocking. The power of his resolve, his tentative hope for the future, dissipated in an instant and impetuous conscious took over.

He let her go and now he would have to see her with someone else.

"No decision," he said, and he kept walking.

Hiccup hated the squeamish feeling in his stomach whenever he thought of Astrid with another man, made more so by his own double standards. He didn't understand it—not when he had kissed another girl (repeatedly) and certainly not when _he_ broke up with _her_. The logic wasn't present, but that didn't stop him from feeling a deep dislike for Larklung and Grund.

It served to spur Hiccup into focusing on his extra-curricular projects for a distraction: his saddle designs and dragon research and generational alliances.

Berk was well into spring and the last of the snow had melted days ago. Hiccup spotted his Night Fury lounged across a patch of yellowed grass with the cloud-filtered sun warming his scales. The dragon was already saddled in anticipation of a post-meeting flight. Hiccup hurried his pace down the last steps.

"Hey bud, want to get out of here?" The clank of Hiccup's prosthetic against stone perked Toothless from his rest long before Hiccup spoke.

The dragon danced on the spot—he was thrilled. Their flights had grown increasingly complex as of late, to where they could be gone for days at a time. Hiccup would pack his weaved creel and they would fly out to other lands, to other slow-bonding human nests.

"We aren't going too far this time," Hiccup cautioned to Toothless' eagerness. "Just a day, maybe two at most."

Any longer and his father would flay him raw. Hiccup already faced punishment for walking out of a meeting, even if his father were the only one to notice.

"Hiccup wait!" Astrid called.

Hiccup entertained the bright, illogical thought of sprinting the rest of the way to Toothless, but the idea fizzled as quickly as it came. She would catch him and he would only look like an idiot.

The young man steeled himself and turned to face his ex. Astrid had to stumble to a stop, unprepared for Hiccup's abrupt turn.

"I just—," for a breath Astrid appeared at a loss for words, "I—there was no decision?"

"I left early," Hiccup told her.

Astrid's reaction was anticipated. There it was—that frown. That disapproving look he had seen his whole life. As children, Astrid disapproved of what she suspected he did. When they were together she disapproved of what he _actually_ did, more so towards the end for their relationship when her personal priorities began to clash with his.

"You walked out on the meeting?" she asked, fishing for clarification.

"They won't notice I'm gone," Hiccup said. He hoped his voice was steady and she could not sense the smidgen of a lie resting in his words.

"Hiccup—" Astrid hesitated for a split second, perhaps debating if she even had the right to scold him. The moment past quickly enough and she plowed forward. "You're going to be chief—"

The age-old tirade. "Astrid..."

"No," she said, "listen to me. You're going to be chief—"

"I know I'm going to be chief," Hiccup said, interrupting her for a second time. This time irritation colored his tone. "Which is why I'm handling things my way."

It was a new element to an oft-repeated conversation, one that threw Astrid off.

Her lips parted in bemusement. "You—what do you mean, _'your way'_? What are you doing?"

Hiccup didn't know _what_ he was doing. It was the scary and exciting part. He only knew he couldn't tell her. She was too close to his father and his council and their ideals. He didn't want to hear of all that could go wrong, of what traditions or histories he ought not to be meddling in. He wanted to surge forward, to follow his drive and intuition in the face of history, as he once did with Toothless.

He took a step back and bumped into said dragon. The Night Fury had given into his impatience, covered the rest of the distance between them, and now nosed Hiccup's riding vest. "I have to go."

"Hiccup—"

She stepped forward; habit lifted her hand to brush her bangs with her knuckles. Hiccup saw the headband more clearly.

"Astrid, I can't," he uttered, speaking from the twist in his gut and not his mind. "I really can't do this right now."

"Do what?" she sounded confused and outraged all at once. "Explain yourself for once? I mean... _come on_, Hiccup. You're acting all secretive again."

Hiccup pressed a hand to the saddle, stuck his foot in the stirrup and hauled his body onto his dragon. Astrid sat back on her hip, her jaw clenched.

"You're leaving," she noted. "You're actually—" her fingers flexed in a show of her frustration, "you just walked out of a meeting and now you're leaving the village."

Hiccup couldn't listen to her diatribe on respect and duty and growing up. A part of him understood her disapproval, just as he understood his father's exasperation with his only son, while another part _hated_ that headband and everything it meant. Hiccup felt aggression in his being that he wasn't comfortable with, most of which was directed at Larklungs and Grund—or whoever gave her that token. A smaller part was directed at Astrid for _wearing it_.

Hiccup snapped his prosthetic into the left stirrup and relished in the sharp crack of metal against metal.

"They're not getting anywhere in there," he said. "And, frankly, I don't care what they decide. It's all bullshit to me."

Astrid's jaw slackened, something Hiccup caught in the corner of his eye.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, though even as the words passed his lips a stronger part of his mind questioned: _'Sorry for what? You meant it.'_ "I'm just...tired." The excuse was every bit as lame as it sounded. "Just...they're almost done. You should go back there—they should know by now. Come on, Toothless."

"Wait—Hiccup, wait—!"Astrid found her voice just as Toothless launched into the sky. Hiccup had to clench his abdomen to keep from looking back. Had they been together Astrid might have hopped on Sturmflae and hunted him in the skies. She would have demanded they sit and talk, which would have likely ended in him reluctantly agreeing to sit through the next meeting in its entirety, to apologize to his father, to concede her points with a sullen nod and an empty promise to stop fighting their elders so much...

Astrid wanted consistency. He wanted change. Maybe it wasn't enough, what he had done with the dragons. Maybe he had some sickness that would leave him unsatisfied with anything he accomplished. Even now he had to keep altering Toothless' tail, his prosthetic, the designs for various saddles...

Then again, Astrid courting one of those brawny, brazen fools was a change he wasn't prepared for.

Hiccup's first instinct was to fly to Camicazi, but Hiccup knew he couldn't use her as a comfort pillow every time his heart hurt. It wasn't fair to either of them. They already trespassed onto dangerous grounds with their last couple encounters.

One was on a Bog ship moored in Hooligan Harbor. Camicazi pulled him beneath deck to show him her collection of dated dragonbone shields. The lower hold was dark and dank, the hull groaned in the water's gentle hold, and something about atmosphere matched her intentions. Instead of words Camicazi tucked her hair behind her ear, which Hiccup began to associate with subsequent kissing, and pulled him into the recess of the hull, where the shadows only heightened their awareness of each other.

The last time Hiccup saw Camicazi was three weeks earlier when they lay together in the grasslands of Tomorrow, long into the night as the stars spun overhead, their kisses growing longer, their hands more bold. The Summer Current washed them with warm, spring winds and the distance from their respective homes kept the usual haste of their meetings at bay. It was the first time they truly held one another.

Hiccup had fallen asleep among the thistles and bluestem, and when he awoke to the predawn grey, wet with dew, she was gone.

As was his pouch of ore scraps.

In a way Hiccup was thankful—it was her reminder to him of _who they were_. She was a Bog Buglar, destined to sail the seven seas as a free woman, and he was a Hooligan, destined to marry and continue a line of legitimate heirs. They were friends—close friends—they shared childhood adventures together and were just starting to view the other in a more developed light. It was a new and temporary experience they shared; a higher stage in their friendship as they matured. Nothing more.

That he _needed_ a reminder is what scared Hiccup. Camicazi was a Bog more than anything else; it came before her hormones, her whims, and especially before _him_. He had to respect her culture, lest he lose her entirely. He needed her as an ally more than anything else.

It was Camicazi had given him the idea to take control again. He wasn't okay with the regime and he wouldn't stand by it, and he needed a friend to tell him as much.

Toothless rose above the first whips of low-hanging clouds and Hiccup swallowed in the sterling air like a drowning man. He felt...better these days. His future was more uncertain than ever, but for the first time in months he had something to work towards. Goals. Where before he watched his village formulate a new order, helpless, voiceless, and forced to watch his vision of community mutate into a parasitic relationship, now he had his own projects again. His own time and company.

He told his father he was on camping trips, survival trips, as it was the only way Stoick would let him travel alone. His breakup with Astrid left things awkward enough between them that she wouldn't follow him. It also served, as he anticipated, as a wedge between him and his peers—though nowhere near as painful as he feared. Snotlout seemed permanently stuck in coarse, yet strangely protective, behavior towards Hiccup—snarking at his failings and then bashing Wartihog, who liked to jab sticks through the apertures of his metal leg. Though 'Lout still preferred to hang out with Astrid to his strange cousin. The twins were also loyal to Astrid, though they would seek him out for the odd prank idea (or victim). Fishlegs, on the other hand, was openly comfortably with speaking to him and would sometimes choose to spend a couple hours in Hiccup's company over the gangs', which was a huge improvement to a year ago when such a decision would be social suicide.

His standing in the village may have taken a hit, but Hiccup had shaken a substantial amount of attention he once found suffocating. He had time and obscurity that could be used to reach out to the corners of the Archipelagoes, not to conquer but to unify. Hiccup knew plan was unorthodox, raw and recklessly open-ended, it was slow and uncertain, but it made him feel useful once again. That, and the vertigo of flight, was all he wanted to feel.

**######## #######**

* * *

><p>Hiccup flew directly over the Swallowing Sands of Swallow and banked left at the perimeter of Grimbod Territory. Not so close that someone could see him—<em>not that anyone <em>else_ rode a Night Fury_—but close enough to catch at least _one_ person's attention. Word would spread that a Night Fury passed overhead and the right set of ears receiving the news would know where to go. It was a system Hiccup was starting to adopt, one that his "contacts"—as he had taken to calling them—learned to recognize.

Little by little, clan-by-clan, Hiccup was re-connecting with the someday-heirs of the Barbaric Archipelagoes. He kept the list short for the moment—sticking to the more neutral and Berk-friendly(ish) tribes, but it was progress. Slow, savory progress. In a few more weeks of deepening trust he would try to expand his reach even further. He would connect through the contacts he had made. Thuggory already promised to speak to Very Vicious, as the vicious lad still made Hiccup inordinately uncomfortable.

"Hi Grizzly," Hiccup greeted when the Grimbod heir landed heavily before him on one of the Swallow's less visited lands. It used to be completely unapproachable for the sinking sands that surrounded it, but dragons helped cross that bridge.

Toothless hardly stirred from his curled nap; he opened one eye, glared at the Devilish Dervish reproachfully, and slapped his tail over his face.

Grizzly grunted his own greeting and jumped from the Dervish's shoulders. He looked much like his father, with wiry black hair, a small forehead, and arms too long for his body. He was taller than Hiccup, but younger, and quite a sight less intelligent too. Usually the combination would only serve to frustrate the Hooligan, but Hiccup was learning, slowly, that the right words could get him what he needed. Often more than fists could.

"What do ya' want?" the boy asked. He wiped his nose on his sleeve, which had gone runny from the short flight.

"How is your village holding up with the dragons?" Hiccup politely inquired. "You seem comfortable enough flying."

The landing could have been smoother.

Grizzly grimaced. "Why do _you_ care?"

"I just want to make sure the transition is going smoothly," Hiccup said with a shrug. He did his best to appear as nonthreatening as possible. Sometimes heirs could be tetchy and itch for conflict.

Grizzly squinted further at Hiccup's easy response. His eyes were little more than dark slivers on his round, pink face. "Are you trying to spy?" he asked thickly.

Hiccup gathered all his patience and put conscious effort into keeping his eyes from rolling. He asked that question the _last_ time Hiccup spoke to him.

"Grizzly, I told you, the dragons are my responsibility. I'm doing this to make sure the dragons are okay. I don't want any accidents—not for the dragons _or_ Vikings."

Grizzly stared at him. It took a moment for Hiccup to realize that Grizzly needed a more direct answer. This time he couldn't keep all the dryness from his tone.

"No. Why do you think I'm speaking to you? You're heir, right? Right," he answered before Grizzly could. "So by the time humans and dragons are living..._comfortably_ together you'll be in charge."

"Uh, okay..." Grizzly said. His mistrust had waned in lieu of his attempt to keep up with Hiccup's jargon. The dragon at Grizzly's side jerked with a rumbling cough and snorted some light smoke from its nostrils.

"You have a Dervish," Hiccup noted, fishing for some common grounds while he had the larger boy off-foot. The first and last time they met Thuggory had been around and there was no time for pleasantries.

Hiccup stepped forward, risking Grizzly's proximity, and reached forward to touch the wrinkled snout. Hiccup knew to keep his eyes downcast until his hand made contact. He knew to breath slow and shallow to keep his heartbeat regular, to exude a calming aura in his bold gesture. The Dervish took in his scent and nosed his palm with a rough nudge, only then did Hiccup lift his gaze to the pale-blue irises.

It could have been his quick approach to the Dervish, but Grizzly did little more than stare on, dumbfounded.

"She's beautiful," Hiccup noted. She was. Her scales gleamed red and foggy blue with a luster that spoke of health and pamper. "He must take good care of you," he murmured to the Dervish. She blinked, her pupils dilated.

Hiccup smiled and looked back at Grizzly. "She's impressive."

As triggered, Grizzly swelled with pride.

"Biggest of her sort," the boy boasted. "Hamwise of the Bashiboinks has one half her size and twice her age."

"A good match," Hiccup said by way of agreement. He chanced a sideways glimpse and saw Grizzly smiled wider, less mean and more sincere. He pressed his advantage. "Though you might be leaning too much on her neck when you ride her. I noticed that. If you sit back more your landings will be smoother."

Grizzly stared dumbly at Hiccup before shifting the look to his dragon. The Dervish grumbled in an agreeing sort of way, or so Hiccup would like the Grimbod to believe.

"I can help you," Hiccup said, drawing Grizzly's attention back to him. "I can help you improve your flying—so that you'd be the best dragon-rider in your village," he was quick to add at Grizzly's initial frown. "It's not going to be like with our parents' rule. We're in a new age here; we need a new skill-set to look up to. Such as being the best dragon rider."

Grizzly's face had scrunched in thought. That, or he suddenly smelled something really unpleasant.

"I suppose you're right..." Grizzly said slowly. "So...so you'll help me fly better?"

It was all Hiccup could ask for, and the smile stretched across his face said as much.

"Sure. In return, I just ask that you keep me up to date on how things are going living with dragons. If you take on any more, how they're being used...that kind of stuff. I'll send you a Terror."

Hiccup had a thought the other day to color-code the Terrors he used to communicate with different village heirs. He already had one in mind for Grizzly.

"Why," Grizzly asked again. This time he lost all meanness and regarded Hiccup with open curiosity. He thought he was getting the better deal—skills over information. "Why do you care how many dragons we take up? Our fathers never bothered with an alliance. Our clans are too far."

_Because dragons negated the issue of distance,_ Hiccup could have told him—in smaller words, of course. _Because I broke down the walls of war and I __**have**__ to care how __**every**__ village is handling dragons. Everything that happens to them is on my head._

"Because I think we can do better than our parents," he settled on saying. He couldn't sum it up any better than that.

**######## ########**

* * *

><p>Hiccup takes over the world.<p>

No sexy-times this time around. Just allusions.

I'm adding more and more book!Hiccup personality as I go, which, hopefully, anyone who's read the books can recognize. Book!Hiccup is kind of like that Hillbilly-born kid who can actually see how backwards everything is from the beginning. He's always philosophizing and regards some Viking traditions with exasperation, not because he couldn't fit in, but because he saw them as ridiculous and didn't agree with them. I feel like movie!Hiccup was a lot like Book!Hiccup when they were the same age, but he lost himself during puberty to self-awareness and insecurities, as we all tend to do. But _I_ ended up taking back up a lot of my pre-teen behaviors (in terms of confidence, at least) and I think Hiccup can do the same thing as he gets his feet back under him.

**Sturmflae** – Sturm is old Germanic for 'storm'. I wanted it to sound the same as Stormfly's name since that's the name Dreamworks gave Astrid's dragon (_what were the writers __**thinking**__?_). But really...that Nadder's got nothing on a Mood Dragon. ;)

Be honest. Too long? Too winded? Am I introducing Hiccup's 'master plan' too quickly? Bear in mind, these all take place over time-skips, hence all the 'thinking back' paragraphs (which are annoying to write). **Please** tell me of any unfinished sentences, ridiculous concepts... anything like that.


	5. Cleansing Breath

********A/N: **As a reminder, the character category changes with those of the most recent chapter. Enjoy!******

**Cleansing Breath**

The massive jaws of a Night Fury stretched in a popping yawn. Toothless smacked his chops a couple of times, relaxing the muscles of his mouth, before he rested his head back on the floor. The heat from the fire below pervaded the loft floors and warmed him into sleep. It was almost a suitable substitute for his own warming breath—a habit expressly forbidden inside human nests.

Already his eyes drooped closed.

The scratch of coal against parchment had become a lullaby of sorts for Toothless. Whether he chose to sleep on the roof, in the rafters or on the floor, that sound could both soothe and prickle his senses, holding him on the verge of sleep until his human was ready for rest as well.

"Alright, that should do it." Hiccup's announcement—somewhat to Toothless, mostly to himself—charged the previously still air in its volume. The boy rolled the parchment up with quick, practiced wrist movements. "I'll get Spic to deliver this tomorrow."

Toothless huffed his thoughts on _that,_ causing a tiny plume of dust to lift from the floor. Spic and Span were two Terrors that had taken roost in Stoick's sock drawer and had an annoying habit of sniping his fish. Hiccup used them most often for Picture deliveries.

Hiccup cast a grin over his shoulder as he tied the scroll with an official looking ribbon.

"Oh come on. It's not like _you'd_ rather be doing it, you lazy lizard."

Normally, Toothless would dignify the insult with something equally cutting, such gnawing on the leg of Hiccup's bed or knocking him clean off his chair, but something outside the room pulled at his attention. His head snapped to the window, ears perked and nostrils flaring.

Hiccup caught the movement from the corner of his eye.

"What is it, bud?"

Before Toothless could give any sort of response the shadow of a long-necked dragon clogged the open-shuttered window. Hiccup swore out of shock; the scroll fell from his slackened grip with the jolt of his body. Toothless settled his earfins against his skull.

A figure slid from the intruding dragon and dropped into the room. The combination of candle and moonlight revealed the trespasser in a clash of dull, warm orange, sharp blue hues, and the wavering caress of shadows. Hiccup relaxed the hold he had in the fabric over his heart.

"Camicazi!" Her name slipped between clenched teeth with a hiss. "You scared the—_What are you doing here?_"

The young Bog took a step further into the candlelight. The glow livened every tone of her tangled hair so that it seemed alive, animated in a way that emphasized the shading of her downcast eyes. They were focused on Toothless; she ignored Hiccup completely.

"Hey Toothless," Camicazi addressed softly, "do you mind keeping Stormfly company?"

The once sleepy dragon was on his feet in no time. Hiccup kept his eyes on Camicazi as Toothless scuttled by her and, with the movements of a salamander, clambered out the window and up the side of the house after Stormfly.

Hiccup longed to observe the pair; the mingling of different dragon breeds was something both Hiccup and Fishlegs were greatly interested in. That his own Night Fury happened to become smitten with a Mood Dragon provided Hiccup with a grand opportunity to examine their rituals.

But tonight was not a night for personal projects. He knew this as he was left to scrutinize Camicazi—boisterous, chatty Camicazi who now stood in the shadows of his room, wholly perturbed.

Hiccup could hear the two dragons scratching along the roof—a grating noise atop the interwoven strain of crickets and owls—and he became acutely aware that he was alone in his room with his best friend. His best _female_ friend, whom he had kissed. In the dead of the night...his slumbering father just below them...

Again, he had to ask, "What are you doing he—?"

Hiccup's voice spurred movement rather than an answer. Camicazi covered the rest of the ground between them in three fast steps and threw her arms around his neck, her mouth pressed against his before he could finish speaking.

Hiccup stiffened, his breath too caught in his throat to breathe properly let alone kiss her back. He had gotten used to the kissing by now; the uncertainty had faded and their friendship no longer seemed in danger from the sparse incidents. Usually they engaged in some sort of conversation before hand: an update on their lives or a simple "hello" if they were feeling particularly friendly. But this...

Camicazi had flown across the Sullen Sea, into his bedroom and said_ nothing_ to him. She hardly made eye contact with him. Her smile was as absent as her attention. Even now she just kept kissing him and kissing him. On and on it went, Camicazi heedless to his hesitant response as if she didn't care if he wanted this or not.

Hiccup gripped her sides and leaned away from the insistent lips.

"Cami—"

She pulled him to her once more, her mouth wet and her hold desperate. Rarely did Hiccup complain about such affection, but something was wrong. Camicazi smelled of ale and smoke and something else. Her fingers trembled when they moved from his hair to his neck; she felt unsteady against his body, like she needed him to support her. The breaths she took between the partings of their mouths sounded more like sobs.

"Please," Hiccup tried again after allowing the necking to continue for a period. This time he had a hand at her jaw to keep her focused. "Talk to me."

Camicazi allowed the suspension but her eyes remained closed; she didn't want to see him, to wake up from this dream she was forcing upon herself. She pressed into the hand at her face and for a moment Hiccup thought she would continue her speechless attack.

Then her shoulders sagged and she bowed her head.

"I—" Camicazi stopped speaking just as abruptly as she started. Her jaw gave the smallest tremble, hardly perceptible in the light. Hiccup could see how she struggled and imagined that the words she wanted to tell him would not leave her throat. Camicazi was never eloquent with words unless they involved goading. She could listen to confessions, give simple yet strangely sensible advice, but admitting to the "wishy-washy" was a challenge.

Camicazi made an effort to keep her life and her wants straightforward so that she would never have confessions of her own.

"Just...keep kissing me, okay?" she whispered against his collar.

Unlike Hiccup, Camicazi had embraced the Viking life. It could have been pride or shame that kept her from explaining what had happened—_what was happening_—but Hiccup had gotten too much silent understanding from her over the last year not to return the favor.

"Okay," he murmured. This time it was he who initiated the next kiss, because Camicazi came for him in all his un-Viking turmoil. She held his hand and she smoothed his hair. She tolerated his needs without prodding him for reasons. This was the least he could do.

Camicazi gave a breathy moan, relieved for his consent, and pulled his head down to her level. One hand fisted in his hair as though she were afraid he would still pull back; the other moved to his collar and eased down his side.

Hiccup allowed her to herd him backwards, allowed himself to get lost in the feel and the motions of her mouth—so familiar by now that it scared him. He thrived in the desperation of her embrace and gripped her back just as hard because he wanted to provide the support she sought with her body when words failed her.

Hiccup was fine with all of this...until his knees hit the bed.

His lips stilled. Camicazi did not. She pressed her advantage and forced him down onto the bedding. Hiccup hardly felt his head hit the pillow as she climbed on top of him. She might have weighed less than him, but Camicazi wielded far more control over her muscles than he. If she wanted him on the bed, that's where he would go.

Hiccup tilted his chin up to disengage her lips.

"Wait..."

"Please..." The heat of her whisper kissed his chin.

"Tell me what's going on."

Her mouth opened. Again, she struggled with her words.

"I just want to feel you, okay?"

Hiccup felt the air in his lungs constrict.

"What?" he breathed, certain he had heard wrong. Camicazi shook her head.

"I want—," she kissed him again, "I want to remember _you_."

"I...still don't understand..."

He honestly wasn't sure what she asked of him. Hiccup thought Camicazi just wanted him to kiss her as she had done for him in his hour of insecurity. But now they were on his bed and Camicazi was on top of him with one leg on either side of his hips, moving in a way that guaranteed he would never look at her the same after this.

"Just help me. Please," she hushed him. She used a voice meant to soothe his discomfort but her actions only served to stimulate it.

"I want to help you," he croaked. He had to close his eyes to keep his reactions under control. "I do." She was pulling on his belt; the stitching, old and worn, began to snap. "I just—"

The belt gave way and suddenly Hiccup's clothing felt far too loose. A trill of panic seized him and he grabbed for her hands.

"I don't—"

Camicazi's mouth was on his again, overriding his protests, pulling at his lips and swallowing every word of caution. Her hands wriggled from his slackening capture and returned to his face, holding him to her. Moon-bleached hair fell around him like a curtain to all sensibility, blotting out small details such as the final flicker of his candle or the complete silence of their dragons. Hiccup was trapped between the bedding and _her_ and for that moment she was all he knew. This was a new situation for him, a new feeling made terrifying because Camicazi wouldn't talk to him.

He wanted to trust her—he _truly_ wanted to trust her—but...

With strength befit of any Viking, Camicazi pulled Hiccup forward into a seated position beneath her straddle. The respite of heat and the sudden elevation dazed Hiccup; he lost sight of her hands.

In a wave of cloth, his arms were lifted with the removal of his tunic. He hardly had time to register the new exposure. The moonlight offered the only clarity in the room but it wasn't enough; darkness augmented his senses. Everything Camicazi did was stirring. Rushed. Fast and _powerful_. Her breathing, her grip, her weight settled on his hips, her hair brushing his shoulder...

She shrugged out of her cropped, fur vest. It disappeared into the shadows of the room to join his tunic.

"Cami—"

She popped one shoulder from the collar of her black-dyed tunic.

"_Camicazi!_"

Hiccup's hands tightened around her wrists once more. This time he was firm in his grip.

"No, just—"

"Cami—I will help you, I _promise_." He must have had strength in his voice to get through to her because her struggles ceased. "But you need to tell me what is going on."

For the first time since she stepped into his room, Camicazi seemed to breathe. She took in air in a shuddering, painful gasp. It could have been the lighting but she looked pale and tired and completely out of sorts.

"I had a rough night, that's all," she said. Hiccup didn't believe it.

"Bad enough to attack me in the middle of the night?" he asked.

Camicazi shook her head. Hiccup noticed she had no jewelry on—no hoops or beads. He took her lack of accessories as a bad omen.

"It's fine," she said with her false smile. Even her usual enthusiasm sounded strained. "It's...don't worry about—"

"I'm worried," Hiccup deadpanned. She flinched at his bluntness and Hiccup's face softened. "Camicazi...look at you—at _us_."

He gestured first to his bare chest then to her, bestrode his body with mussed hair and a vacant, frenzied aggression.

"Hiccup, I am begging you," Camicazi pleaded. "Tonight was...tonight..."

Hiccup was granted the unique opportunity to see Camicazi curl into herself. Never had she been more self-conscious—not in front of him. He didn't know what could have happened to shake her like this, to cause her to think he would go along with this without a _reason._

"Tonight was _what_?" he prodded. What could have happened this night to make her like this? Even in the most hopeless of scrapes, he had never seen her so defeated. "Try. Please. For me."

Camicazi knew she owed Hiccup an explanation, she knew he meant too much to her to use him without feeling, so she took a breath and squinted at a cluster of freckles covering Hiccup's right shoulder. She needed something to focus on for the impending candor. Something to ground her.

"It was just a tradition," she began, speaking as though she were trying to reassure herself. "I expected it...yeah, it was everything I expected it to be. I just...I just want to feel better right now. It's a lot to ask, but I know you can help me feel better. I don't think I can sleep otherwise."

She finished in such a whisper that Hiccup had to close his eyes against the dark just to hear her. He still wasn't sure what was going on so he waited for her to continue. Camicazi seemed to realize he needed something more when his hold on her wrists slackened but didn't release.

"I had to...I couldn't..." She took a breath, "I want _you_ to be what I remember. I want to think of _you_. I don't want to remember sex like it was—"

Hiccup reeled. Everything clicked into place. Everything that happened that night, everything he knew about Bog culture...

Somewhere, in his heart of hearts, Hiccup knew Camicazi would have to go through this just like every other Bog at a certain age. He never wanted to think about it—the Bog's odd rituals into adulthood. The very thought made him ill at ease.

He also never expected her to bring it to _him_.

"He wasn't mean," Camicazi immediately added. Hiccup could only imagine the look on his face to warrant such a detail. "He wasn't _nice_ either, but Brüna picked him like that. It was supposed...supposed to be like that. So we don't get attached to them, you know? We're not allowed to be. Not at my age when I'm just learning..."

Her voice, stilted in her need to validate the night, trailed as Hiccup's touch registered. His fingers traced her temple—her eyelids fluttered—and moved down her cheek, pulling a strand of hair caught in the corner of her mouth.

"But why are you _here_?" Hiccup murmured.

She answered, swift and honest, "Because I want to be."

Hiccup knew then that he would do what she wanted because he didn't like this shadow of his friend. Camicazi was too self-assured, too aware of her own talents, and too happy to point them out to people...but that was _Camicazi_. She didn't shift and shrug and move around with downcast eyes. She was open and spirited and something had damaged that spirit this evening. Some_one_ had.

He would give her whatever she needed to heal. He would do anything to make her feel comfortable in her own skin again, anything to rub out that knot of self-disgust he had just then recognized.

"Okay." The word seemed to come from a different part of the room; so faint to Hiccup's ears, even from his own mouth, that he had to say it again. Louder. "Okay."

He cupped her face. It could have been his touch or his words, but Camicazi's features appeared to lighten. Her eyes had lifted to reflect the light from the window. Her skin felt so real and warm; the fleeting thought of '_who had touched her like this_' passed his mind but Hiccup stamped it out before it caught hold.

He doubted they had even bothered to hold her.

Hiccup jolted at the feel of Camicazi's hands on his chest, scratching lightly at the sparse hair. The reality of what he just agreed to pressed in on him.

"I don't know what to do," he admitted.

He always pictured this moment with Astrid. He had always imagined saying those exact words with a stutter and a blush and far too much self-consciousness. But here, with Camicazi, they came smooth and frank. This wouldn't be a night of passion between two young lovers. This would a night of healing and learning and compensation. Hiccup was terrified of course, but not because of performance or expectations.

He was terrified that one of his most secure relationships was about to move into unsecure territory.

Camicazi gave a breathy laugh, as though relieved by his words. "I don't really know what to do either."

She pulled at her waist sash, this time disrobing with far less fervor. Hiccup's hands covered hers, moved with them, though he didn't know if he meant to help her or slow her down.

"I've never done this," Hiccup said again. Perhaps the reality of the situation was a bit scarier than he was willing to admit.

"I know." Camicazi smiled—the first true smile since she stepped into his room. She kissed him, sweet and simple. "Just be _you_. Just keep kissing me and holding me and take your time."

So he did.

**######## ########**

* * *

><p>Before anyone yells please understand that the characters are consenting adults of their time. The Bog Burglar culture is something rather unique and not understood well by outside tribes (though Hiccup does his best to). They try and train the girls to view men as a means to an end and desensitize them to physical relationships, that way they won't be tempted to marry and leave the tribe. Men aren't allowed in Bog Isles, you see, so if all the women started getting carried away with romantic notions they would dwindle away to nothing and wouldn't be able to stand unified against the male-run tribes.<p>

We have **officially** crossed the line, so to speak, in terms of adult content. I know there is at least one explicit chapter ahead and possibly more. There will also be more Astrid-involved chapters.

Thank you so, so much for all who have reviewed (and actually read this). So how was it? Too serious? Did Hiccup fight it too much? Did he not fight enough? Anyone in a rage? Please let me know what you think!


	6. Calling the Shots

**Change of Pace**

**Warning: The following content is **_**racy**_**, **_**limey, **_**and **_**implicit**_**. It has bumped the rating up. Skip if you're uncomfortable with it.**

Astrid rocked against the figure pressed against hers, hip-to-hip, chest-to-chest, nose-to-nose. The lip of the workbench cut into her thighs, even through the leather strips of her skirt, but the seating gave her the height she needed to effortlessly command his mouth. He stood between her parted legs, his hips gripped by her knees, his hair twisted in her fingers, and his tunic wrenched back and forth beneath a sweaty palm.

His beard, though short, chafed the underside of her jaw as his lips slavered down her neck in a slick, wet trail. Astrid didn't mind; something about the heat of his mouth on her made her feel warm all over. Everything felt warm in that moment—the embrace of his thick arms, the breath he washed over her skin, the proximity of his body, the way they moved against each other, the clothes that separated them...

Astrid closed her eyes and dropped her head forward. Her nose buried in his hair and she inhaled his scent to help drown out everything else. The scent of tannins and dyes made her dizzy, steeling her breath against them made her dizzy, so she tightened her hold on the sturdy Viking and focused on feeling everything he did to her. She surrendered control and enjoyed the rewarding rush she uncovered with every tryst: a clench in her stomach and heat in her belly, nearly as potent as the noxious air she breathed. Their hips met at the table's margin and Astrid could _feel_ his desire for her. Thrilled, she held him closer still and slowly ground as much as she could in his iron grip. He responded to with pleased grunts and harder mouthwork.

One thick hand rested beneath the leather strips of her skirt and kneaded her thigh. She felt his fingers worm a little further from her knees with sharp digs and soft, apologetic strokes; the alternating pressure sent pleasing shocks crawling across her skin and felt especially divine on the tender muscles still healing from yesterday's spar.

His other hand held no such subtleties.

It rotated between gripping her side with bruising force and jumping to her breast. She allowed the exploration for a short time, as she did everytime, before pushing the harsh fingers down once more. There were some parts of her body that Astrid didn't want bruised.

She could not say how long they spent in the tannery; she wasn't even sure how she ended up in the dim, quiet room. One moment she spoke to Grund about hunting plans on Wodnesdæg, her weight rested against the property's paling and her mind worried by errands, and the next he had pulled her inside the empty shop with his mouth on hers before the door fully closed.

Astrid turned her head towards that door, mindful not to disturb the tongue tracing her collarbone. Sunlight leaked through the breaks in its woodwork and left a stretched pattern of bright shapes against the darkened floor. The color and position of the rays told her everything she needed to know.

She tugged the hand she had fisted in his hair.

"I have to—have to go," she uttered. Her voice sounded throaty and unrecognizable to her own ears.

In response, Grund's lips left her neck and sought out her mouth. The dark made it difficult for him to see; he caught the corner of her mouth in an open kiss and quickly pulled her bottom lip between his own. An arm circled around her back to crush their pelvises together and Astrid became hyperaware how much he didn't want her to leave. The proof pressed against the junction of her thighs.

But she had to.

"Gothi's—mmm—expecting me," she murmured against the kiss. She didn't want to leave the warmth or have him stop touching her. Smell aside, she had no desire to leave this place.

"Come on..." he begged, his voice as guttural as hers. His other hand snapped up and gripped her breast in a less than flattering plea to stay.

She grabbed his wrist and pushed the hand back down. Her head started to clear.

"No. No more."

Undeterred, he continued to kiss her forcefully, continued to flatten her against him like a cocoon of heat and power. Astrid couldn't deny that it felt good—really good—but the physical temptation was soured by his insistence.

He made for her chest again and Astrid's patience snapped.

"Enough!" She threw his hand from her.

"Astrid—"

Her chin lifted, taking her lips from him, and she tilted backwards.

"Really—I have to go," Astrid said more resolutely. She pushed against his chest and frowned when he continued to resist. Irritation welled within her.

"What? You _just_ got here."

"And now I'm _just_ leaving."

Astrid slammed the heel of her hand into his solar plexus and Grund staggered back with a heavy grunt. She slid from the tanner's bench.

Grund reached out for her, gasping for breath. "What—?"

Astrid spun on her heel and knocked away his attempted contact.

"When I say, 'I have to go', it means I'm _going_," Astrid told him. "You don't demand my time. _Ever._"

Grund's nostrils flared, his lips tightened and, for a moment, Astrid thought he might be mad enough to take a swing at her. She planted her feet and tightened her stomach; she'd be ready for it. Hel, she'd welcome it.

A muscle in his cheek jumped before the rigidity melted from Grund's body. His posture may have lost the aggression but his voice did not.

"You'd really rather be with that old bag than here?" he asked.

No longer with the threat of a brawl on her hands, Astrid set to work adjusting her skirt back into place. The spit on her neck had cooled and now felt sticky and _present,_ no longer enticing and warm, and she rubbed at it in irritation. Her entire body felt chilled having lost the blanket of Grund's caress. The smells of the room wafted over her—she had nothing left to distract her—and suddenly it became difficult to breath.

"Yes. I think I would," she replied stiffly. She didn't care for his attitude and she sure as Hel didn't care for his coercion.

"Hey, hey, wait—!" He grabbed for her arm, but Astrid spun out of his reach for the second time with a forbidding look on her face. Grund realized his error. He put up his hands. "I'm sorry—_sorry_—I wont do it gain."

Grund was a large fellow, taller than her by a head and a half and thick of chest and arm and neck. He was skilled with a broadsword, a heavy hitter when it came to his fists, and could take hits like a bull. Hair, muscle and scars decorated his thickly fleshed body. He was a Viking—the sort of Viking that would look good by her side.

Yet, despite all of this, the look Astrid made out upon Grund's face somehow made him seem smaller. His features became more visible as her eyes adjusted to the poor lighting and she could see a pleading in his eyes more eloquent than anything that came bumbling from his mouth.

Because Astrid hadn't moved or spoken, Grund felt compelled to keep talking. His hand ran through the dark hair loose from his braid.

"It's just...I was really enjoying you—your time, I mean," he said quickly. "I enjoy spending time with you. Not just _this_ sort of time—but it _is_ great—but any time with you. Hunting and training and stuff."

Yes, Grund was a Viking. So putting his feelings into words was about as natural as peacefully sitting in a Roman church. And yet...Astrid found something strangely endearing about his word fumbling and she wasn't quite sure why.

She nodded. It was the only thing she felt she could do to show she acknowledged his words. She wouldn't outright say she forgave him—not so soon after upsetting her—because he had to _learn_, but he was sincere and earnest in his apology. He worked through his discomfort to placate her.

"Okay," she added for his benefit. Then she turned away from him and opened the door. "Bye."

She was a Viking, after all. When she had nothing left to say Astrid continued on her next course of action.

"Catch you in the Meade Hall later?" Grund asked, hopeful. Half-a-smile tipped Astrid's lips before she fought the muscles back under her control.

"Bye!" she repeated, but this time her voice was light enough for him to know he had her forgiveness.

The sun blinded Astrid as soon as she stepped into it. She blinked away the black spots, wincing at the assault on her senses. Vikings shuffled back and forth, bellowing to one another about slaughtering lambs and fur trades and collecting wood for the Meade Hall. None paid any mind to the young woman stumbling from the closed tannery.

"Oi!" Astrid's shoulders seized at the sudden address. "Lady Liar. You just crawl out of bed?"

Recognizing the voice, Astrid relaxed and started to turn.

"More like an ambush—" She got only so far before Ruffnut blindsided her in a one-armed hug. The mug in the taller girl's hand sloshed ale over its lip.

"Watch it!" Astrid hissed. She managed to just avoid getting the drink stained into her shoe but couldn't quite

Ruffnut grinned and lifted her mug to the sky in a silent salute to the gods for quenching her thirst. The action caused her to lean more heavily on Astrid, who tolerated Ruffnut's state by wrapping an arm around her waist.

"A _loverly_ evening for a _loverly_ romp in the shop, wouldn't you say? Hey, that's a pretty good rhyme..."

Astrid's nose wrinkled at Ruffnut's alcohol-saturated breath, yet she grinned as she pushed the girl's head away with a free hand.

"The sun's too high for this," she remarked, waving at the drink.

Ruffnut sneered and took another gulp to spite the comment.

"So," she started after wiping her mouth on her arm wraps, "where were you? I thought you said you had chores to do."

"I _was_ finishing up some chores," Astrid insisted. That had been the truth just before Grund sought her out, anyway.

"Really?" Ruffnut squinted at the top of Astrid's head. "Because it looks like you had some meaty man-hands running through your hair."

"Frigga—really?" Astrid's hand flew to her head and patted her hair only to find several strands of it pulled and loose. She swore again.

"You also smell like Grund-tongue and heavy petting," Ruffnut added cheerfully. Nothing quite lifted her spirits like someone else's distress.

"I do not," Astrid mumbled, but the self-consciousness crept up on her nonetheless. She rubbed at her neck where Grund spent the last of his attention. Her eyes darted around and suddenly she felt as though every Viking who looked her way _knew._

"It _was_ Grund, right?" Ruffnut asked. She stumbled over a loose stone in the path and nearly took Astrid down with her given the grip she had on her friend. "Or did you finally give Larklungs the time of day?"

"_Yes,_ it was Grund," Astrid snapped a bit harsher than she intended. "Who do you think I am?"

The severity of her voice was lost on Ruffnut, who sighed and stared at the dregs of her mead.

"Man, is _everyone_ getting some but me?"

This caught Astrid's attention.

"Did Snotlout finally get that Fisherman's daughter he's been after?"

That had wiped the frown right from Ruffnut's face. She threw her head back and laughed. The wild volume of her voice spooked poor Slipshod into springing off the beaten path as they passed him.

"Nah," said Ruffnut. "Didn't you hear? She's old news. He determined to get that Meathead broad, What's-her-face. She's here ya' know...somewhere on the island."

Together, both blondes looked at the crowded harbor, where every "dragon-friendly" tribe moored. Vikings bumped bellies and knocked shoulders as they unloaded drink and game from their ships, but more would come before the sunset. The games would be tomorrow, tonight the festivities started.

"Yeah," Astrid said quietly. "Hard to believe it's been two years already. How different things were two years ago..."

For one, it was a different boy who she met in dark corners.

"Eh?" Ruffnut glanced at her, bewildered. It took a moment for Astrid's words to make sense. "Oh that! Yeah, good times. Sometimes I kinda miss it..." Before Astrid could ask _why_ Ruffnut would ever want to be back at war with dragons the girl jumped topics again.

"Ever think about running off to the Bog Burglar tribe?"

Astrid couldn't immediately pinpoint any of the Bog ships, which made the abruptness of Ruffnut' question a bit disorienting, but she answered it nonetheless.

"Sometimes," she said truthfully. A shieldmaiden led a relatively independent life compared to southern women, but nothing compared to the freedom of a Bog Burglar. "But then my Hooligan pride kicks in and you know this entire island would fall to ruin not long after we left.

Ruffnut nodded and knocked back the end of her drink.

"Pivotal, we are," she said, solemn. "Iconic."

Astrid shook her head. Ruffnut kept jumping between contemplative and personable and she only had the mead to blame. _"Why_ are you drinking already?"

Ruffnut inhaled deeply through her nose.

"I find the best way to deal with all the speeches we're going to have to sit through is to get a head start on some Tolerance." She waved the empty mug around. "Fancy your own?"

"No thanks. I've got to help out Gothi," Astrid said, gesturing to the path branching from the one they travelled. Elder's house sat at the top of the hill, not far below the chief's home—a testament to her status.

Ruffnut shrugged one shoulder and disentangled herself from her friend.

"Suit yourself," she said, skipping backwards. "I'm getting a refill."

"I bet you are," Astrid said wryly. Her voice rose to follow Ruffnut's speedy beeline to more Mead. "I'll be in the Mead Hall before sundown—" She cupped her hands over her mouth. "Save some for me, will you?"

And to Astrid's mortification Ruffnut replied with a hearty bellow of her own.

"Fix your skirt, you slut!"

**########**

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It was degrading really, what she was having him do to her. Degrading for _him_—on his knees, servicing her. A man's natural place, if one were to ask a Bog.

And—_oh!_—how she loved it. She deserved this...and so did he. _Especially_ after that stunt he pulled in the stables: ambushing her, pushing her over a stone block...mounting her like a common animal...

It was fantastic, and she gave him points for unpredictability, but still rather demeaning.

This should make them even.

Camicazi rested her chin on her palm and surveyed the lively Meade Hall with eyes half-lidded, all the while trying her damndest not to give away how _hot_ she felt in that moment, trying not to incite in anyone the compulsion to look under the table.

No one would stop this from happening—and certainly not from finishing. Not at this point. She waited all night for this; all throughout the Integration's Anniversary, throughout the speeches and toasts and brawls. She waited until nearly every member of every tribe had at least three pints of mead, then she shed her wraps behind a pillar, shuffled to a seat, and dared Hiccup to get under the table.

And he did it.

Camicazi's fingers twisted his hair.

"Higher," she hissed.

He ignored her, of course, but she knew he heard her. So disobedient.

Hiccup never used to accept dares. Not until after the Integration started to take place. And it wasn't challenging his father, or defeating the greatest dragon known to Viking-kind, or even 'bagging the girl' that brought out this temerity. It was Toothless. Toothless saw Hiccup's daring, encouraged Hiccup, slapped Hiccup around for degrading himself. The changes in Hiccup churned at a slow pace, but they emerged all the same, slow and natural and sound. Camicazi saw the difference in him a little more clearly with every visit.

At least _she_ knew whom to thank for it.

A spark of euphoria shocked her core and ran along her spine; Camicazi closed her eyes as she came _so close—_only to have him skirt around her need.

"Come on, Hiccup," she tried to growl, but a small whimper struck low in her throat. He knew what to do—he had done it before. The pretentious little dork was just being difficult.

She _knew_ that he knew what to do because this had happened one too many times. Not here, not in public—this was a first—but these _trysts _had been going on for nearly a year now, ever since Camicazi first came to him in her darkest hour of insecurity.

The dragons are what made this all possible. Camicazi could see Hiccup often and at her fancy. They visited more frequently, shared more hardships, and somehow, somewhere along the line, those little visits had descended into something else all together: a twist of support and comfort.

She kept coming back because he needed her. Every time she came to visit over the first year he looked a little more lost, a little more stressed. He wasn't prepared for the attention—the sheer volume rather than the positivity—and no one could see how he was breaking all over again because no one _knew _him in the first place.

Their parents forbade them from sharing a room, which led them both to believe they were suspected. Camicazi knew that Stoick quietly rooted for the Other Girl and she knew that Bertha would have _kittens_ if she ever discovered that Camicazi engaged in unapproved relations with a man, but the heiress welcomed every strike against her. That's what made this so _fun._

Really, Camicazi was surprised they were _allowed_ to share a room for as long as they had—right up until they were practically adults. Before the integration Stoick probably thought Hiccup was hopeless in every department—including women—while her mother likely wanted her to leave the island pregnant at some point. _"__**I**__ was seventeen when I was pregnant with you,"_ Bertha would always say after staring at Camicazi's compact body for a moment, a tisk on her lips.

Her mother didn't seem to understand that it was a new era. A girl had things to do before she ruined her figure.

Like the chief of Berk's son.

Camicazi swallowed and wet her lips. She felt thirsty but her muscles—even those Hiccup hadn't touched—were over-stimulated and wouldn't bring her drink to her mouth.

Everything was hot. His mouth on her, his hands on her legs, the hair that brushed her belly, creeping under her shirt, his scalp under her fingers, her drink on her tongue, the air she couldn't seem to get enough of...

"Hey Cami."

Camicazi looked up, hardly caring to hide her lidded eyes and colored face until the looming shadow of Thuggory stole her breath in a decidedly less than pleasant way.

"Shhhit," she hissed. She turned her face down so that her hair would cascade around her flushed cheeks.

The shadows of their corner table encased her in a false sense of security; she wasn't prepared for anyone to speak to her.

Worse than Hiccup continuing as if nothing were wrong was that Thuggory continued to talk.

"What are you doing here by yourself?" The brawny lad leaned one hand on the table while his other went to his hip. "Want a little company? You look lonely."

Normally such a brazen offer would have repelled her—_she _did the picking up, thank you—but Hiccup took away far too much of the sting for her to muster up the proper anger.

Ohhh, and he was _nursing _her now.

Her eyes fluttered close, caught between annoyance at _both _men and rapture at the warm bliss between her thighs.

"No," she ground out.

"Come on now," Thuggory chuckled. "Don't be like that. It's not like you to sit alone at a party."

Oh, she could _scream_. Instead, Camicazi released a slow, controlled breath.

"Thuggory, go away," she instructed as calmly as she could.

"You don't mean that," he rebuffed.

She opened her eyes, pinning on him a look of the deepest warning.

He had been drinking; he'd never be so bold as to ignore her instruction twice. Not after she permanently repositioned his nose the last time he tried to make a move on her (back when it first became apparent exactly _what_ she would inherit from her mother).

Thuggory leered at her, thinking she was playing coy.

Camciazi would admit that he was _alright_ looking and, as she did with almost any male she encountered, assessed that he would pass decent heirs. But clueless as Hel. All muscle, little brains.

"You don't look so good," Thuggory commented. Camicazi could only imagine what she looked like in that moment. "Maybe you should lay off the mead? I know! Come outside with me for some fresh air. We can go for a ride together on my Nightmare. You remember Killer, right? He's a big guy, much bigger than Snotlout's worm, that I can tell you—"

Camicazi groaned. Of course he would bring competition into his wooing, and naturally it would be Lout he compared himself to whilst on Berk.

What started out as distaste between Snotlout and Thuggory in their childhood had turned into a rather ironic rivalry. Everything was a contest for two boys cut from the same mold. They could have been related for all their shared dispositions—each always felt threatened by the other the way a dog would feel threatened by its reflection in water.

Hiccup insisted that Snotlout was all right these days and, admittedly, Camicazi had seen Snotlout grow rather protective of the young cripple over time. But this did leave question to Thuggory's thoughts on Snotlout's loyalties and his own tentative friendship with Hiccup.

Regardless, Thuggory—and Snotlout, for that matter—were the kind of men that drove her insane—bullheaded, thuggish, and simpleminded. Too concentrated in their embodiment of all that was Viking.

Or maybe her time with Hiccup had influenced her tastes?

She tightened her legs around Hiccup's head as he carried on moving his tongue and lips and teeth against her. She needed him to slow down and_ keep going_ in equal measures. She couldn't think. She couldn't control the erratic expansions of her chest.

Something was wrong with her. It should have been a turn off having _this_ guy try and make conversation with her. Just knowing what went on under the table—_and Thuggory had no idea_—augmented the thrill of it all.

She felt Hiccup's hands grip her thighs, holding them from crushing his head. Then she felt him gently scrap his teeth against something rather sensitive to the hard pressure.

Camicazi jerked; her foot struck Hiccup's side. A muffled grunt emitted from the wood. She bent forward, her hands fisting in a slow stiff claw against the table. She had nothing else to hold onto.

Thuggory took a step back.

"Woah, okay...so you don't like Nightmares..."

"Just..." Hot breath stung her folds with Hiccup's every exhalation. "Just get out of here."

Her eyes closed. She imagined his nose mashed into her rise, fingers kneading the flesh of her leg. Her face prickled with a new tide of warmth.

"Want me to get you some water?" Thuggory tried again.

Camicazi's eyes flew open.

_"No!"_ she snarled.

He threw his hands in the air, masking his bewilderment with a face of contempt. With wounded pride, Thuggory stalked off with no further attempts to make conversation.

Camicazi celebrated her victory by relaxing into Hiccup's ministrations. Now, _now_ she could enjoy the fruits of this dare, the smooth and powerful scorch of his favor.

She felt something else down there. Something drier, controlled...too controlled.

"No hands!" she squeaked. Her stomach spasmed at the sudden dexterity pressed upon her. "Che-cheater..."

Were there any rules? Who started this twisted game?

One of them had. One of them had pushed their fragile boundaries, trying one thing and then another. What started as unsure rendezvous and experimentations had turned into a racy, wild secret.

And it was on the verge of spiraling out of control. Much like she was.

For Oden's sake, they were in _public _now.

"Oh..." she sighed. She started to jerk her hips as best she could. One of her hands risked an odd sight to the public eye by reaching down to capture Hiccup's head. She wanted him to go faster.

But he stopped and she quickly realized her mistake in rhythmically petting his hair. She wasn't allowed to treat him like a pet—one of his rules.

"Sorry," she mumbled while her mind screamed at him to keep going, to keep pushing her to completion.

Her eyes darted around—one of the only things on her body still in her command—occasionally meeting the eyes of another...

Camicazi's breath caught in her throat as a large and rather familiar figure approached, standing at least a head-taller than most other Vikings.

Oh gods, Hiccup's father. Oh _gods_. If he came over here...if he _spoke _to her while his own son was doing _this..._

It would be so horrid and so invigorating and they would be in _so_ much trouble because when it came to Hiccup's fidelity Stoick could be strangely astute.

Stoick passed, the shadows of the surrounding pillars doing their job.

Camicazi sagged. Her body lost its sudden tension and Hiccup returned to his assigned task, further coaxing her into relaxation.

It was a cruel and slightly funny happenchance that the next time Camicazi looked up her eyes fell upon Astrid Hofferson. Their stares met from across the room, so briefly it might have been a trick of the light. Astrid had turned away in the next moment, back to the conversation she had previously been engaged in. Camicazi continued to observe the girl with half-lidded eyes. Her thoughts ran wild as Hiccup proceeded to rebuild that heat Stoick chased from her loins, using techniques she had guided him into understanding, showing a care and teasing few men would bother with.

To think, Astrid could be where Camicazi was today if the fates were a bit kinder to her. As it were, the Hooligan stood against too much in the face of snatching Hiccup straight from the forefront of the Integration. From his distant admiration Hiccup managed to build Astrid into some kind of deity. Camicazi would know—she had to listen to him bemoan and lament his invisibility to the "Midgard-bound goddess" that was Astrid Hofferson for years of their friendship.

Hiccup's elation at finally catching Astrid's favor was so high, so concentrated, that Camicazi knew it could not last. Disenchantment was sure to follow within weeks of them _actually speaking to each other_, anyone could see this_._ Months passed and Astrid's kisses lost that numbing charm which soothed the sting of her hits. She was no Valkyrie, as Hiccup quickly learned; she was just a girl. Talented and beautiful, but still capable of error. _Of course_ Astrid could not live up to the expectations in Hiccup's fantastical mind. The boy set himself up for that one.

What Hiccup _didn't _realize—being the male that he was—was that the illusion shattered on both ends. Maybe Astrid thought Hiccup would be brave and daring underneath all that cynical and modest exterior—and he was, he had it, but only when necessary. Only when pushed. Where Hiccup didn't _want_ to have to be strong all the time Astrid was one for appearances. For a while Astrid tried to push him into that role of chief—into the assertive behavior and decisiveness he showed in battle. She wanted the man who faced down the Green Death at her side, the man who stood up for dragons in the face of opposition, not the man who Hiccup was at peace.

It was one of the first pressures that caused the many cracks in their relationship. Astrid came on too strong. Hiccup, not strong enough.

They could have worked under different circumstances—they could still work, but it would take time and effort on both their parts.

Maybe some day they would even get a contract. Hiccup would get what he wanted. But right now, Hiccup only_ wanted _Astrid.

He needed _her._

With this thought in mind even having Astrid as the object of her visual attention could not stop the sultry smile from crossing Camicazi's lips. Astrid was pretty as ever, composed as ever, nodding politely to her partner of conversation, but ignorant as Hel to the activities of her lost man.

Camicazi pitied Astrid in a backhanded sort of way, for she knew _exactly _what the girl missed out on had she only had a bit more empathy. Astrid could motivate and inspire, but she did not know how to heal. And in those first few months, Hiccup needed a healer; he needed a support as he found his legs again.

One day. One day Astrid could have _this._ But she needed become more than a desire and a hope for Hiccup. She needed to become Hiccup's necessity, to earn what Camicazi had earned simply by understanding the odd Viking.

As it were, Astrid didn't know a lot of things about Hiccup. And it was an error that could have saved their budding relationship.

She didn't know how much Hiccup liked to have his hair brushed back, that it helped relax him. She didn't know how he could get insecure so often, that it read in the shrugging of his shoulders and his dry humor, that he needed reassurance he wouldn't be forgotten about. Nor did she know of the abandonment issues involving his mother...and his father.

She didn't know how broken Hiccup had been after he lost his leg; that it wasn't the happily ever after for him everyone assumed he managed. She didn't know because she didn't want to know. Astrid was never an overly sympathetic girl; she couldn't understand having to slow down for Hiccup weeks after his injury—another thing that helped drive the wedge between them. She jumped right into knocking his shoulder and dragging him around as though nothing had happened.

Camicazi knew. She knew because she had the good sense to follow Hiccup in his hour of weakness. In Viking society you hid your pain, and those that showed it soon learned not to. It was a lesson that Hiccup refused to learn.

Camicazi knew Hiccup hated being hit; that it brought back too many memories. Hair pulling, back clawing, shoulder biting—yes. But no fists.

Astrid didn't know how Hiccup liked to dominate—that if he were to be pushed down it would be because he chose it. Astrid didn't know how Hiccup could move his tongue _like a damn snake._

A short squeal tore from Camicazi's throat and Astrid flew from her mind. Her breath came high and shallow, her toes curled in her boots. Hiccup knew she was close—and she knew as much by the way he seemed to dive into her so that his shoulders hoisted her legs as high as the table would allow.

Two hands slammed onto the tabletop.

Camicazi had not realized her eyes had drifted shut until she was frightened into looking up just Hiccup's head was frightened away from her nether regions.

The Bog burglar swallowed her startled heart from her throat as she realized their disturber was no threat.

Ruffnut Thorston.

The girl had obviously had a few two many pints—unsurprising given her penchant for drinking. Her face was as flushed as Camicazi's for an entirely different reason. Her hair looked mussed in the way a stop in the shadows with a local tavern boy would leave it and there were mead-stains all down the front of her vest.

Ruffnut grinned down at her with unfocused eyes.

"Soooo," Ruffnut began, leaning very, very close to Camicazi's face, "I was rolling around on the floor...and I saw something _awesome_!"

Camicazi stilled, waiting for the inevitable. Hiccup had drawn away from her lap and with his lips went her arousal. The fire in her belly that he stoked so hungrily had begun to fizzle.

Ruffnut held up a silver coin. "A penningar!"

Camicazi's relief was short-lived when Ruffnut proceeded to crawl over the table and peak over the edge next to Camicazi's lap.

"Hiccup," she stage-whispered to the lump under Camicazi's skirt, "can I be next?"

Camicazi pressed a palm to the blonde's forehead and shoved her off of the table with all the compact strength she possessed. Ruffnut's delight went unhindered by the violence. If anything the girl seemed to be in even higher spirits.

Ruffnut picked herself from the ground, cackling, and disappeared into the crowd. She was such a loose cannon Camicazi could not discern if she hurried to tell on them or to find another couple to bother.

Tattled on or not, she would not be left high and dry.

"Hiccup Haddock Horrendous the third, you will finish what you started if you know what's good for you," she growled down with as much verve as she bestowed upon Thuggory.

For a moment, nothing happened. She just felt the shallow puff of his breath like a feathered kiss.

Then he went in with the intent of hard, sudden victory. He went in with everything. One arm came out from beneath the table and encircled her bottom, drawing her closer to that tongue and those gently used teeth and—

"No fingers!" He ignored her, pinching, twisting and entering— "Ugh, okay, okay, okay...just wait...slow down, I think your dad is watching..." He wasn't but the agitated twitching of her shoulders started to catch some stares. There was something about the way he just took all control from her—the only man who dared, the only man she'd ever allow to.

"Hiccup...yuh-you..."

Appearances were shot anyway. Both her hands went down to his head—consequences be dammed. She bowed, neck bent until her forehead touched wood, blocking all activity other than that beneath the table as she finally reached her finish.

She didn't know what sort of noises she made into the wood, her forehead felt clammy...or perhaps the wood had mead spilt on it. She couldn't be arsed to differentiate. The smell of sweat and drink and sap flooded her senses and for one, undying moment it was the only thing grounding her to reality.

Then she heard someone shouting about selling their goats for armor and a challenge for someone's daughter and a hundred clanking mugs. She heard Hiccup climb up from his cellar and seat himself next to her. She felt his hand rub up and down her back.

"Well that was new," he said. His breath smelled of mead and what had to be herself, but she leaned into his support anyhow.

Camicazi picked her head up from the table but kept her eyes down. She didn't want to see who watched them now.

"I thought I'd never get off," she moaned.

Hiccup chuckled. Under the table, out of the sight of Vikings, he rubbed her knee in affection.

"Yeah," he said. "The one time you don't want to talk to people and they come find you."

She grunted at the statement and rested more of her weight against his side. Despite her annoyance with certain individuals, Camicazi felt far too relaxed. Her skin tingled all over in contentment and it wasn't just an after glow affect. It was Hiccup's proximity, her shoulder pressed into his chest, his height that allowed his chin to rest against her brow.

"I was thinking about Astrid," she mumbled.

She felt his chest move as he took in a breath.

"You were thinking about Astrid...while I was...? Wow. That's...kind of exciting."

Camicazi poked his side with less force than he deserved.

"Idiot. I was thinking about how lucky she'll be."

Hiccup groaned. "Cami..."

She grinned.

"I'll have you aaall, trained up," she grinned. She felt sleepy and too heavy against Hiccup. The mead was hitting her. Her release hadn't helped.

"Cami, stop," Hiccup mumbled, looking away. "It's not like that..."

She leaned into him further, not letting up.

"You're both so stubborn. You need to man up. She needs to get that stick out of—"

"Cami," he said warningly.

"You guys should try being friends first. Take it slow. Learn about each other before you try jumping into a relationship. Accept each other for your faults. Then try the negotiations."

Hiccup bit his lip. Camicazi didn't know if he was actually listening to her or thinking of some snarky comment on her attempt to sound philosophical.

"Like us?" he asked, proving the former.

Camicazi considered the comparison.

"Yeah, like us. Except, I'm not an option, being a—oh Thor! I hope you weren't expecting her to be like me..." Hiccup may have done that, she realized numbly. Gone into that relationship thinking Astrid would have her sort of tolerance underneath those disapproving headshakes of exasperation.

Hiccup hadn't actually known Astrid as anything but a pretty face and an exemplary Viking. What if he imagined her to be like _her_ but with Astrid's face?

Camicazi didn't know whether to be flattered or not.

"I didn't expect her to be like you," Hiccup said flatly. "I'm not that daft."

She chuckled, ending the short laugh with a hum and a miniscule nuzzle to his shoulder.

"Think she'll mind if I borrow you for an heir?"

"I don't think she'll want me at this point." Hiccup sounded tired. He had all but given up on Astrid, she could tell.

"I think she's waiting for you." Camicazi knew women; it was her culture. She saw the way Astrid looked at Hiccup sometimes; a look of loss and wonder. A look of '_what if?_'.

"I'm waiting for _her_," he countered.

"Talk to her."

"I _do_ talk to her. We are friends, really. It's just...it's not the same." A troubled look passed over his features and Camicazi knew exactly what he feared. Whatever friendship he and Astrid could have had may have been ruined by a premature relationship.

"You're the best each other will ever do." And Camicazi would never be more thankful that the laws of common Viking society didn't apply to her.

"I used to think so," Hiccup murmured, but it lacked the disparagement of his previous sentiments. This time he sounded contemplative.

Camicazi opened her mouth, prepared to dissuade the line of thinking she feared Hiccup entertained—_because there were some boundaries they could never, ever cross—_when clapping reached their corner. A single, repetitive beat very obviously directed at them.

"Heeeey! Look who's back!" Ruffnut called in a slur. Her voice was just slightly louder than her claps. "Where yeah been Hiccup?"

A few of the more tipsy folk started following along, thinking they'd missed something worth applauding for. It was good fortune that both Stoick and Astrid had left the immediate vicinity. Only a few familiar faces turned to stare at them, and even then they had no idea what Ruffnut could have been referring to.

Hiccup was not fazed by the attention. It may have been all the drink or the late hour or their risqué activity, but the chief's son did not appear to fear for his reputation.

"Your brother just stole your mead," Hiccup intoned. "Right out of your tankard."

Tuffnut hadn't; Ruffnut had drunk it herself. But it had the desired effect of redirecting Ruffnut's jumpy attention. She shoved three Vikings to the side in her haste to find her brother.

"Think she'll tell anyone?" Hiccup asked lightly. Ruffnut was at the point where she would hardly remember faces tomorrow morning.

"If she does we can always pay her off."

And Camicazi held up the pennigar that led Ruffnut to their secret.

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**A/N**

So now we have some insight to Astrid's time spent during all this emotional confusion. Obviously she's not going to be permanently hung up on Hiccup. Gothi and Grund will be brought up again in later chapters too.

The bottom half with Camicazi was actually the first thing I ever wrote for Crossing the Line-it's what birthed this whole story actually!-and I had to edit some of the content. Now that we've _reached_ this original material chronologically we can really start moving forward with the politics and shake some things up.

Thank you all for your reviews! And thanks a bunch to **Sir Nick** for coming back and editting for me :D

So what did you think? Too limey? Repetitive? Scary?


	7. Chewing the Rag

**A/N: **A big chapter ahead. The relationships are changing. You may want to re-read chapter 2 for the Hiccup/Astrid interactions to make the most sense.

Also, please **vote** in my coloring contest found at the top of my profile! (you may need a DA account to vote though)

**Chewing the Rag**

Hiccup stumbled into the homestead, blindly following the large, guiding hands until the back of his knees buckled against a fastened wall bench. He dropped into the seating, grateful for it and desperate for any form of anchor. It wasn't the pounding of his blood or the angry shouts beyond the oak walls that had him so disoriented, that had him picking at shambolic flashes of events to try and piece together a proper memory. It was the speed of how those events played out—his own actions—which kept him in shock. Actions that felt beyond his control, both then and now as he reviewed them in his mind.

He shook his head in a poor effort to knock everything back into sensibility. His ears rang, and continued to ring with Thuggory shouting his name.

"Oi!" Thuggory snapped again. He shook Hiccup by his shoulders. "You alright?"

The question came to him once more before Hiccup unclenched his eyes and answered, "Yeah."

His blood was cooling, his anger dissipating. The noise was fading to the background. Hiccup pushed Thuggory's hands from his person. He needed space. Air.

"How's Toothless?" he asked.

No sooner had he said it did a large, black head crop up behind the Meathead's shoulder.

"He's fine," Thuggory answered, though Hiccup took Toothless' adjoining, gummed smile as proof over the other man's words. "Waiting on you to wake up, I suppose."

What Thuggory referred to was not Hiccup losing consciousness. Only his senses left him, alongside his composure, when Buck of the Rudeboys put a thoughtless, _stupid_ plan into motion.

_One that was stopped,_ Hiccup had to remind himself. He felt his body sag against the grain as his head began to clear further. He still couldn't make sense of it. The crack of a whip, the screaming—_dragon_ screams as well as human—flames and flight—pain in his arm and the jarring shock of striking ground...

He took another breath and tried to ignore the ashen taste of the air. _The taste of dragon flames_.

"So we're good?" Hiccup asked. His voice sounded more listless than he was prepared for and he wasn't sure to whom he directed the question at—Toothless or Thuggory. He'd take information from either source.

"We're good," Thuggory answered. "Hamchops is dealin' with Buck and his followers right now. People are still in a state, but for the most part no one got hurt. Well, y'know, except for—"

"Move!" a new voice commanded. The dim lighting kept Hiccup from noticing her approach (there really weren't enough candles lit in this outbuilding) but Thuggory was pushed aside in the next moment to be replaced by a Rudeboy shieldmaiden Hiccup had met once before. Oddi, if he recalled her name correctly; married naught a year earlier, seven months pregnant, and currently restricted to civic duties.

She was also quite skilled in healing.

"Gimme yer arm," Oddi commanded as she took hold of the bleeding limb without waiting for an answer and yanked the ruined sleeve back.

Hiccup kept his mouth shut as she worked. The blood cleared from his head as his stagnancy drew on, and the knowledge that the danger had passed steadied his heart.

He had done it. He had handled his first riot. The queasiness in his stomach soured the relief; he knew this could only be the first of many situations to come. The first that he had _known_ of. Vikings would fight the integration—he always recognized this—but dealing with it, being the one _outsiders_ looked to for solution, taking action...that proved a challenge.

Hiccup first heard of trouble starting in a poorly written correspondence from Hamchop. The thirty-year-old Viking Chief wrote to him of an anti-dragon faction brewing unrest, terrified with his new position after the death of his aunt, Bulgwarg the Bold, former Chieftess of the Rudeboys.

So Hiccup came as promised—with Thuggory, who had more connections in the Rudeboy tribe than he (but not Camicazi, for the Bog Burglars and Rudeboys would forever feud and she refused to set boot to a Rudeboy colony). It took two days of travel, and Discord was everywhere when they finally arrived. Hiccup spoke with the elders and head-figures of the tribe, pleaded with the riot leaders, but his placating words were not enough. The party of anti-integration Vikings was too aggressive.

A demonstration pushed forward—one that aimed to prove the dangers of hosting dragons by _using_ one.

Hiccup swallowed, ignoring the sting of ale Oddi poured on his wound as he recalled the aged Arrowjaw they dragged onto the pavilion. It had been beaten into hostility long before the end of the Nest. The old ways were still with this dragon; leaving it conditioned to fear humans and react to triggers. It was a dragon with a grudge, mistrustful and hateful towards humans just as so many felt in return.

There was the crack of a whip—a whip Hiccup never saw, but he heard it and he _knew_ what would happen next. He had only enough time to a share a look with Toothless before the Arrowjaw released its jet-stream fire onto the people of the tribe. The lone Hooligan had already sprung into action, leaping onto Toothless' back, in time to take off with the dragon.

Hiccup had seen dragons scrapple in air before, but for once he was a part of it. Dragon scales could take the damage of teeth and claws but his frail, human skin could not. He never felt the talons slice down his arm as the Arrowjaw attempted to sink a grip onto Toothless' shoulders, nor did he know how long they battled the dragon above the heads of Rudeboys—attempting to subdue it, attempting to prevent more people from killing dragons. Hiccup only knew that in one breath he was airborne and, in the next, they were back on the ground, the dragon pinned beneath Toothless, the Night Fury's jaws clamped deeply into its neck.

Before the dragon's last cries faded into the night, Hiccup had directed Toothless to pounce on Buck. The wizened Viking was beneath a snarling Night Fury before he could think of his next move.

The Arrowjaw was dead, the riot nipped in the bud in a sudden and unexpected move by a foreigner. All that was left of the event was a stunned band of Rudeboys and a furious Hooligan. When Hamchops bellowed at the offenders it was with the words Hiccup whispered to him, shaming and compelling.

"Look at _you_, with battle wounds..."

Hiccup blinked. His mind flew back to the present and his eyes to the speaker. Thuggory leaned against the hut wall with his arms crossed over his chest and his focus on Hiccup's arm. Hiccup too focused on the wrap already spotted with blood.

"At least they'll listen to me now," he said tiredly. It was as positive as he could feel.

It was dead. That Arrowjaw was dead now.

_Gods_, how he hated doing things the Viking way. He wanted to pacify the crowd with words before actions, but it wouldn't always work. He was learning that, "hero" or not, Vikings were Vikings. They would do things the Viking-way before doing things _his_ way.

The shabby curtain pervading the doorway was pushed aside in a soft ruffle of cloth. Chief Hamchops stepped in.

"Yeh alright?" he asked upon looking directly at Hiccup. Hiccup noticed how Hamchops kept to the wall on his way over, as though making every attempt to keep from turning his back on Toothless. The dragon was stretched against the opposite wall from Hiccup, waiting patiently for Hiccup's medical attention to end and licking the last drops of blood from his maw.

"He's fine," Oddi answered before Hiccup could process the question. He winced as she gave the bandages a few firm tugs. She slapped his wrist gently. "Yer all good tae go."

Hamchops nodded curtly at her and took a seat at Hiccup's side.

"Thanks fer that, out there," he said with a jerk of his head towards the outside. "I just got a Dervish meself, but I don't think we could have reacted so quickly. That was... that was really something yeh did there... just knocked it right back down before I even knew what had happened..."

Hamchops' eyes darted to Toothless again. Hiccup supposed he should feel flattered by the chief's obvious unease around his dragon—or offended—but he was too focused on Hamchops' words. _'Really something'_ didn't seem impressive to him at all. He felt sick.

"He's right handy in a situation, innit he?" said Thuggory.

Oddi looked up from the bucket of bloody rags and smiled at Hiccup. "Aye. Hiccup the Handy."

"Useful," Hiccup automatically corrected. It's what his father called him shortly after the Nest Battle. Truthfully, he didn't rightly care _what_ he was called so long as it wasn't use_less_.

Oddi shook her head. "Dinnae have the same ring tae it. Yeh with me boys?"

Thuggory and Hamchops nodded. Thuggory because he not only agreed but thought Hiccup's weak argument against the name as laughable; Hamchops likely did so because he felt he owed Hiccup at least an audibly pleasing title. Hiccup dropped his head back against the wall and suppressed a groan. He just wanted to sleep and try and drown out the image of that Arrowjaw's head falling limp against the ground.

"Well!" Hamchops said, pushing his hands against his knees and standing. "This was a success! Time fer a drink!"

The chief moved to a lopsided cabinet and pulled out some pewter goblets and a flask.

"A dragon died," Hiccup pointed out. He felt sluggish still, exhausted by the events with a slow-running brain. He didn't lose much blood, but he remembered the dragon's squeals before Toothless silenced it forever and it was enough to weigh in on him. He could remind himself again and again that it was tortured, broken long before the scuffle, that it deserved the peace of the afterlife, but it wouldn't negate his involvement with its death.

Hamchops went right on pouring anyway in an outstanding example of selective hearing.

"Well, _we'll_ drink to a success and _you_ can drink to the dragon's memory," Thuggory said while handing Hiccup a goblet. Thuggory was always happy to share a drink with someone, and had the optimism of a Viking: a conflict and ale meant a good night.

The Meathead heir nodded as affirmation to his own statement and clanked his cup to Hiccup's.

Just as Thuggory was learning to tolerate Hiccup's odd thinking—similar to how Camicazi had when they were younger—Hiccup learned to tolerate the Viking way of life. He was learning patience. He was learning to implement his ideals into the future heirs year-by-year, encounter-by-encounter.

Hiccup was also learning to tolerate the alcohol, and it was only with a small grimace that he swallowed. He had to—it was a social thing. He sipped at it while Thuggory gulped. The older boy drank with a desperation that begged to forget the night, and Hiccup realized that perhaps Thuggory wasn't as unaffected by the Arrowjaw's treatment and demise as he first thought.

"This'll be odd to explain to my da'," Thuggory commented with a brief squint into his cup to gauge what was left. "I mean, me visitin' someone like Viscious is nothin' strange, but out here in Rudeboy territory? You showing up and laying Ol' Buck the Barge out like that? You think he'll get suspicious?"

All it took was one adult feeling the threat of usurpation and their parents would shut down their meetings. Hiccup explained this to the chiefs-in-training time and again; he still worried that it hadn't sunk in. The discretion of their travels and meetings and ethics discussion (which were mostly one-sided impressions on his part) were _vital_.

"No," Hiccup said with more confidence than he felt. "Our parents don't talk as much as they should for village leaders."

Their stubbornness and grudges of past feuds were to blame, and the dragon war only served to divide them further. It may have ended, none of the adults wanted to move past the tradition of limited contact and militancy. It had become a thing of pride. A stupid, pointless, state of mind, if anyone were to ask Hiccup.

Hiccup took another sip and the bite of the ale slid down his throat smoother than before. The adults were a bit of a lost cause, but _his_ generation was salvageable.

"With any luck he won't hear about it until the Thing come harvest." Hiccup lifted his eyes from the ripples of his drink. "He _won't_ hear about it otherwise, will he?"

His eyes bore into Thuggory's first before sliding over to Oddi, and finally Hamchops.

Months ago he would have been pleasantly surprised by their slow nods of agreement. Now, he had come to expect it.

**########**

* * *

><p><strong>########<strong>

"Where in th' Hel did yeh get _that_?" his father asked four days later.

The Hooligan Chief just settled into his seat for the evening. The chair gave its familiar creaks and groans as it bore his weight but, as always, proved up to the challenge. A tankard of mead was nestled snugly in Stoick's hand, and a well-deserved one at that. Hiccup really _could_ understand the ritual of winding down with a drink after a day of decisions and responsibilities.

Hiccup glanced down at his arm—the only thing his father could possibly be referring to. The scar was pink and raw and just free from bandages that morning.

"Hit a tree when I was flying," Hiccup said while resisting the urge to pull his sleeves back down past his elbows. The neatsfoot oil he worked into Toothless' saddle was not only foul-smelling, but would stain any cloth it touched. Hiccup already had a limited supply of clothing after an unexpected growth spurt that left him both clumsier and skinnier than before.

Stoick heaved an inflated sigh—or perhaps it was a normal one for the bear-of-a-man—and withdrew the tankard from his lips. He never failed to make his feelings on Hiccup's "reckless flying" known with displeased noises and expressions, but he had long-since stopped verbally berating his son. It was pointless, after all.

With a slight shake of his head, Stoick moved onto a necessary, though difficult, topic.

"Hiccup, we need tae talk."

"I'm listening," Hiccup automatically muttered. Predictably, he continued working out the cracks in the leather, never looking up.

He _was_ listening, he was simply focused on his self-assigned task. The state of the seat-brim frustrated him; the damage from the Arrowjaw appeared irreparable.

_Listening_ wasn't enough for the chief.

"Yer nae lookin' at me."

"I want to get this fixed up before I head out." The straps were fine—thank the gods. Everything functional was left unscathed. It was the comfort of the saddle that had been compromised. Comfort to _him_, not Toothless. It was usable.

Hiccup missed the grimace on Stoick's face, but he heard the clear perturbation in his father's tone when he asked, "Yer headin' out again?"

Only then did Hiccup pull his attention away from the saddle in his lap.

"Er... yes?" He planned to try and reach the clans of Tomorrow. The journey was lengthy and the Viking tribes dotting the costal lands were long removed from past alliances. He had no idea where their situation stood with the dragons or how they coped after the war. It could take a few days.

"Hiccup," Stoick said gravely. The lines in his forehead deepened in time with his frown. "Nae again. Yeh leave fer days at a time. Don't yeh have work tae do at th' forge? There's so much yeh could be doin' here. _I_ could use yer help. There's more yeh need tae learn about bein' chief, more responsibilities yeh should be pickin' up rather than running off fer _fun_—"

"It's not..." Hiccup sighed, frustrated. "It's not all fun. I'm... I'm collecting wisdom and... and experience." He was. "This is really good for me. _And_ for Berk—"

Hiccup had to stop himself there. He still feared he would be confined to the island if word got out of his affiliations with other heirs. His father, along with several other current clan chiefs, stubbornly held onto old rivalries. Some would see it as a play to usurp the current chiefs; others would feel their ancestors were disrespected by the audacity of youth.

He could already feel it ending _without_ his father's interference.

Everything he did seemed to be for Berk these days. He didn't know when or how it came to be like this, but Camicazi's thoughtless words of comfort had the unintended effect of starting a generation-wide network. Hiccup let Fishlegs take the reigns on the dragon-training academy, only stepping in to manage from time to time. Admittedly, when he first approached Fishlegs about taking on more responsibility, it was because things between him and Astrid were so awkward that he wanted to avoid seeing her (and it truly seemed things could _never_ be the same between them). But the loosening of one responsibility only pulled him deeper into another. The other clans were terrifying and frustrating but Hiccup couldn't deny he loved the freedom. Out from under the stares and expectations of his own tribe, he could spend hours—_days_—flying, he sought out who he wanted and not the other way around, like a taste of his cove-days with Toothless.

More than that, he was starting to build a true rapport with outside clan figures. Thuggory and Hamchops, Moondoggy over in the Glums and Tackytic of the Frothifists, Grizzly the Grimbod, Camicazi...

But it would stop soon. Though he would sooner be an ambassador than a chief, Hiccup knew this lifestyle would never hold up. He could feel it ending now. Slipping. Camicazi could too. The last couple of years were the freest of his life but Duty would soon befall him. He had to grit his teeth and face it.

Hiccup focused at the saddle in his lap and his resolve to reach Tomorrow strengthened. He had to reach as many tribes as he could before duty anchored him to this island.

"Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?" he asked, not looking at his father.

Stoick sighed, yet again acknowledging another topic he and his son would leave unresolved, and set his mug down on the table. Hiccup looked up at the action. Hardly two sips had been taken and the drink had already been removed from hand. Either his father had extremely grave news or he was about to broach an uncomfortable subject.

Stoick steepled his fingers in front of his mouth but Hiccup could still see the corners turned in a deep frown.

"Yer eighteenth birthday will be up in a few months," Stoick began quietly. Hiccup swallowed involuntarily—eighteen could mean a lot of things for an heir. "...You're going to have tae take a wife."

So a grave _and_ uncomfortable subject...

"I know," Hiccup said quickly, and he looked down to the saddle again. "I know."

He knew. Oh, how he knew. He was the chief's son. He had a lineage to protect.

Hiccup focused on oiling the saddle with greater intensity, rubbing over the same spot until the pigment wore. A beat passed where he worked in silence and his father continued to stare at him.

When Stoick spoke again, it was to ensure that Hiccup understood. "A serious wife. A proper one."

"I know."

"I'm nae stupid, Hiccup." Stoick's voice said it all. Quiet and commanding. _Knowing_.

Against his will, the hand rubbing oil into the leather slowed to a stop. Hiccup felt his body seize. His stomach soured.

"I told you," his father went on. "Nothing happens on this island without me knowin' about it."

So he knew.

_But how long did it take you to figure it out?_

Still, Hiccup said nothing, even as his face warmed. What could he say? The prick of his father's stare added to his discomfort and the fumes of the neatsfoot oil shortened his nerves. Hiccup feared if he did attempt to speak it would be an outburst of truths and vexation.

Another beat of stifling, heavy silence passed and then:

"She's a Bog."

"I know!" Hiccup snapped, harsher than he meant. He took a shaky breath, tossing the oil-soaked rag away from him. The dam was broken; his feeble resolve against having so much revealed to him crumbled away. "I would never—it was never even an issue! That—I _can't_ marry her—that's just—"

Perhaps it was saying it out loud, or maybe it was having his _father_ of all people bring up the subject, but Hiccup was forced to acknowledge the impending reality that _it was ending_. _It_ was. His respite and sanctuary from the tumultuous role he unwittingly took on. He was going to have to end things with Camicazi—Camicazi who was just _there_, never pushing, never delving. Camicazi, who he never had to impress, who trusted him enough to let him see her at her weakest, who understood the burden of being an heir even with their cultures so vastly different...

More shocking than the uncomfortable tightness in his chest, was his father's leniency for his tone.

"Okay, okay," Stoick said with easing hand motions. "I just want tae make sure we're on the same page 'ere."

It was proof of how far their communication progressed over the last three years. But something about the way his father looked at him, something in his eyes akin to pity, rattled Hiccup. His father had never looked at him like that before.

Hiccup let the saddle slide from his lap. He body felt too heavy to do anything more, his mind too weighted. It was really happening. Camicazi would be removed, he would be land-bound, his personal influence on other tribes quenched...

"I'll find someone to marry dad," Hiccup promised. His voice was flat, every bit as tired as his mind and body. Beyond the burden of going _through_ a marriage and all that it entailed, finding a girl to form a familial alliance with was a challenge in itself. There was no one on the island who he wanted to marry.

Not one that would want to marry _him_, anyway.

Hiccup had just pushed himself to his feet when a thought struck him. "Does she have to be from Berk?"

Stoick appeared off guard by the question. "Er...well, I suppose not..."

He travelled. Maybe he could find someone who would marry him? Someone who wouldn't mind him flying off for a few days or spending hours upon hours in the forge whenever inspiration struck...

Stoick cleared his throat and moved to take up with his mead again.

"But you needn't bother," he said. His eyes shifted with uncharacteristic unease before he focused into his cup. "I've, er, already entered negotiations with Aksel."

Hiccup knew that name all too well.

"What?" he yelped. From the sharkskin rug, Toothless' earfins perked, sensing the distress and shock in Hiccup's voice before settling them back against his skull. "Aksel _Hofferson_?"

For a moment, Hiccup was struck speechless. His father inhaled from his mug, refusing to meet the wide, horrified eyes of his son.

Hiccup found his tongue again but could only numbly utter, "Astrid doesn't want me."

She didn't. How could she? She had someone else. She seemed happy. She fought, she drank, and she tussled. Grund was a proper Viking who did proper Viking things and they looked like a proper Viking couple. It wasn't just Hiccup who thought so—he'd heard the offhand comments and village gossip: how Astrid and Grund looked so _good_ together.

Two years after their break up and it still made Hiccup's insides twist into knots. He felt inadequate, for he was sure no one ever said that about _him_ and Astrid.

Stoick shrugged and took another deep drink. "Her parents don't seem tae mind."

"Her p—" Hiccup turned to face his father, bewildered. "You talked to her mother too?"

His stomach felt like an iron ball. Full parental negotiations almost _always_ led to unifying families.

"Aye. We were talkin' back when you two were hangin' around each other. Whit happened there, anyway?"

Hiccup bit his lip and shrugged. This wasn't the first time his father tried to have this conversation with him, and Hiccup still hadn't figured out how to answer. Everything around his and Astrid's separation was about emotions and expectations and nothing that could be put into words. The closest he had ever come to reasoning it out was the letter he wrote to Camicazi, and _that_ he had Toothless burn.

If he had stayed with Astrid his life might have been very different. He wouldn't have the connections he had now, the undetected authority he was starting to gather, but he would have _her_.

Maybe it was the muted longing or the ever niggling _what if_ or, quite possibly, jealously, but whenever he saw her Hiccup's stomach still flipped on itself. He hated it—loathed it, even—because he couldn't make sense of it.

"Alright, alright," Stoick said, holding up his free hand in a dismissive manner. He learned not to expect anything but blundering from Hiccup on that subject. "Just know that yeh have tae start fulfillin' yer role as an heir, and that starts with a marriage. It's an easy set up, the Hofferson lass. A _good_ one."

"I..." His mind blanked. He could only think of one solution. "I'm going to bed. Toothless?"

Toothless was ready, and snorted into wakefulness.

Hiccup turned away from his father, dazed. He needed to sleep. He needed to end this night and this conversation and let unconsciousness take him. He needed time.

Gods, there was no time left, was there? _That's_ what he had run out of.

Stoick leaned forward and said, "Well, hold on—should I talk to Axel? We'll go ahead with the _handsal_ tomorrow if yeh like."

Hiccup couldn't bring himself to look at his father; the expression on his own face might give away his terror and yearning. He couldn't answer that question—he couldn't possibly decide what he wanted.

_He wanted time. Just more time._

"I—I don't know," he managed to croak to the boards on the steps. "Just... ask Astrid, or something..."

She was the only girl he ever pictured himself wedding, but that was a long time ago. He was different. She was different. And she had moved on.

**########**

* * *

><p><strong>########<strong>

The bark-wrapped charcoal spun between his fingers. He spun it again, then again, the tool moving as deft and soundlessly as the flame to his left.

Hiccup rubbed his eye and groaned. He should get to bed. The hour was late; the tallow of his candle now spilled onto his work desk. Gobber left long ago and the allure of sleep called to him from the shadows of the forge...

He gave his head a sharp shake. No. He had to write this letter. Time was short for him and he needed an invitation to Tomorrow, possibly someone to accompany him as well. Hiccup would have preferred someone from lands close to Tomorrow, someone who had associates in one of their diverse tribes, but Tomorrow's neighbors were the Murderous Tribe and the Lavalouts. Neither was on friendly terms with Berk.

Going by his connections, the Bog Burglars were closest. However...

Hiccup sat back on the stool and let the writing stick fall from his hand. It clattered against the table, setting a hollow tap to echo around the silent room.

Camicazi. He had to meet up with her. He had to tell her that his father finally brought up _marriage_.

Feeling heavy from more than sleep, Hiccup tore a new page. At least the words would come easier for _this_ letter. A simple meeting request. He would tell Camicazi in person.

She wouldn't be as caught off-guard as he had been by the news. If anything, Camicazi had more interest invested in his future on Berk than he did. She told him repeatedly that he needed to start _"seducing that Domestic"_—usually as a joke, sometimes with distain. He had to marry and she did not.

_"And you know who it'll be, right?"_ She would nudge him repeatedly in the side, as though she found how uncomfortable Astrid made him a thing of great amusement. From the beginning, Camicazi insisted that Astrid would be the one he married and he never took her seriously, always assuming she was needling him.

He wondered if Camicazi would keep the same good humor when—_if_—it became true...

"Hiccup?"

Hiccup swore.

He didn't mean to; the word, used so often by Thuggory, slipped from his lips in his startle. It was more than the unexpected voice (at an even more unexpected hour) that drew such a reaction from him. It was _her_ voice.

He spun in his seat, his elbow sliding his papers askew as he did so, and felt his stomach pitch lower at the sight of Astrid on the doorsill.

She looked... appalled.

"Ah, sorry," Hiccup managed to choke out. His mind was faltering, his fingers fumbling. He didn't know whether to stand or sit, to usher her inside or question her presence. For a moment, he didn't know how to _breathe_. _Why was she—? How did she—? What should he_ do_?_

His subconscious settled on staring dumbly.

"It's fine," Astrid said with just as much hesitance. Had Hiccup managed to get his thoughts in order he might have noticed she looked every bit as uncomfortable as he felt.

His head nodded, yet he didn't remember ever giving it the command to do so. He felt foolish but he didn't know what else to do. He'd spoken to her before. Why was she here at this hour? In the forge, of which she otherwise avoided aside from business related matters.

_The marriage_. He glanced down to the table, his mess of letters, and back at Astrid. He didn't know if _handsal_ was completed, if his father had spoke to the Hoffersons directly or if he first asked Astrid for her opinion. He didn't know what she knew.

Hiccup pushed himself awkwardly from his chair; the legs teetered from the movement.

"Ahm," he cleared his throat when his voice caught. "I don't know what you've heard. There was something... Our parents—that is _yours_—well, mine did too, my dad, but that's not the point—"

"I just spoke to my parents," she said bluntly. Maybe it was his blatant discomfort, but Astrid's shoulders relaxed some and she took a step into his confined workspace.

In contrast, Hiccup found her words rattling.

She knew. Gods, she knew. His father must have completed the handsal... or it was rejected. He and Astrid might be married and he couldn't tell how she felt about it because she kept her face schooled—impassive, with searching eyes and a light frown.

Hiccup winced, suddenly unable to meet her gaze anymore, and rubbed a hand down his face where he could feel his heating skin. He felt responsible for all this and he didn't know why.

"Oh... oh gods, look, I'm sorry—"

"Are you?"

"Huh?"

The quickness of her question brought Hiccup's focus back on her. Astrid had her head cocked and she stared at him so intently that he found he couldn't look away again.

"Are you sorry that our parents want to marry us?" she elaborated.

"I'm..." Hiccup thought on his next words, "sorry for you." That still didn't sound right. "That you're getting pulled into this."

Her brow furrowed, her eyes lightened, and Hiccup realized he found her expressions so much easier to read than her words.

"_You_ broke up with _me_," she said softly.

Hiccup nodded, but said nothing. He had nothing _to_ say. Nothing that could be put into words.

"You didn't want me," she went on. She was pressing an old wound, clearing the pus that might have lingered.

"No," he said quickly. "That isn't—that wasn't it at all. I always—that is..." How could he say this? "It was the timing and the village—"

"I know," she said, just as quiet but so much shorter. She didn't want to hear the reasons again as much as he didn't want to say them.

Her eyes still searched the floor, the walls and his belongings. She no longer looked at him anymore with that blue, blue gaze. She came to say what she needed to, she could leave, but there was so much more they both _wanted_ to say.

So she lingered.

"Were you heartbroken?" he asked. The question spilled from his mouth thoughtlessly, and he found it sounded just as stupid when he said it out loud. He couldn't help it.

She shrugged and shifted, uneasy. "I was...shocked."

"So was I," said Hiccup. He felt his lips quirk when he confessed, "I didn't think I'd have the courage to go through with it."

"Then why do it at all?" She looked at him again, her confidence back in the form of reproof.

_Why not?_ he wanted to say, because unlike every other Viking on the island **change** didn't terrify him. He wouldn't stubbornly push through something that failed so often, and he wouldn't push through a relationship that would only fall into destructive patterns. Stepping back may have saved them... from themselves and each other.

But the focus in her eyes told Hiccup now was not the time to unload all his inklings and 'what if's. Astrid hated 'what if's. He remembered that much about her. She wanted black and white, clean-cut reasoning. She liked having a "right" choice.

Hiccup could never see that "right" choice she was so fond of. He would question it too much.

_Maybe they're still too different..._

"Because it was hurting us both," he heard himself say. "I guess I thought we could do better apart for a while. I don't know."

Astrid tightened her lips. They were moving forward finally. Slow, like slogging through bogs in the summer, and as painful as ripping the wrappings off a clotted wound... but necessary.

"Do you regret it?" she asked, treating his direct question with her own. "Breaking up?"

Hiccup understood what she wanted—closure and structure and truth—and gave her exactly that.

"No." He would have never had Camicazi otherwise. "I don't regret breaking up with you…"

He forced himself to say his next words, words he might have otherwise kept silent.

"But I still care about you. A lot."

Astrid nodded. She didn't return the sentiments and Hiccup would never ask her to. He remembered how she reacted when he first broke it off with her—for their own sakes. He remembered how she looked at him with _such_ disappointment, like he let her down even when somewhere inside she too knew it was for the best. She avoided him, avoided looking at him and talking to him because it was so _hard_. She was hurt deeply; he could see that even through his own turmoil.

Astrid wet her lips and flicked her hair out of her eyes. "Then...we're getting married?"

The question startled Hiccup, and it wasn't simply the implication that she _agreed_ to it. Maybe it was his admission of still caring, but Astrid's posture had relaxed immensely. Her voice lacked her earlier restraint, like she felt more comfortable talking to him.

The fingers of her right hand fiddled with the wrappings of her left arm as she waited for his response, and her eyes would only meet his briefly before scanning his wall of blueprints.

A slow smile pulled at his cheeks.

"I guess... I had planned on seducing you back to me, you know," Hiccup admitted before he could check himself. He always had this problem around her: a running mouth. "This just kind of twists everything around. Less work for me."

He wanted to lighten the mood. Their marriage was sounding so _forced_—he had to make sure she was as okay with it was he was. It was never Astrid he had the problem with; it was everything marriage represented: responsibility, stagnancy, an exponentially shorter flight time...

To his happy surprise, Astrid let out a brief, breathy chuckle before she slapped a hand to her mouth to stifle the offending sound.

"You...were going to seduce me?" she asked through her fingers. He couldn't blame her for laughing. Proactive seduction was never his strong point.

"That was the plan." _Definitely_ Camicazi's plan, anyhow. "For when I was ready to grow up."

That _was_ his plan, Hiccup recalled with a start. Even as he made the gut-wrenching decision to let her go two years ago, he had every intention of trying for Astrid again. He would wait for the politics to blow over or for one of them to

Then he became too involved with Camicazi... then too involved with the other clans... and thoughts of returning to his imagined life fell further and further away.

"Are you ready yet?" Astrid asked him.

"I don't have much of a choice," Hiccup said. He flinched as soon as the words left his mouth. Sure enough, the smile Astrid had slowly fallen into vanished. _He hadn't meant it like that._ "But yes, I suppose I'm ready."

It was a weak save, and Hiccup felt like he took a step back in making this marriage seem less like a punishment.

Astrid opened her mouth and Hiccup prayed to Odin she would say something to set them back on track again. They were doing so _well_...

"I heard about what happened in Peaceable country, with the Rudeboys..." Astrid said and Hiccup's heart plummeted. Nothing could prepare him for _that_. "Someone on a Night Fury put down a wild dragon."

He relaxed a little. News travelling across tribes often had to pass through many mouths; the story changed a little more every time. He could work with this.

Hiccup didn't realize how light he felt talking to Astrid like this again until he was forced to lie to her like he did his father. He had to treat her like a Viking and not a close friend.

"It wasn't me."

Naturally, she wasn't to be put off. Astrid took another step forward.

"You're the only Night Fury rider," she said.

"You don't know that."

"Hiccup, don't insult me."

She was full in the candlelight now. Her jaw set forward and her eyes ablaze with certainty and accusation. She seemed so much like when she first started to take notice of him three years ago; he nearly forgot what it felt like to have Astrid Hofferson's full attention on him. Terrifying, exhilarating, bewitching. Dangerous.

Hiccup chewed his bottom lip. He felt dizzy—unprepared—and instead of thinking of a clever cover story, his traitorous brain chose to focus on the many new freckles on her face—a thinner, more angular, face, but still the same round cheekbones and pointed nose and pronounced chin...

He could _tell her_, Hiccup realized, because even when he first made the decision to end things _trust_ was never an issue with Astrid.

"I did what had to be done _in the moment_," he conceded. He wouldn't tell her everything—he couldn't! She was so _Viking_. Half-truths for now. "I could never _plan_ to do that though." Gods, that Arrowjaw. It's dying shriek, cut off— "I would never intend for it—"

"Okay, okay!" Astrid jumped in with mollifying, pulsing motions of her palms. She had a peculiar look on her face that made Hiccup wonder if he had gotten too emotional without realizing. "I wasn't attacking you for it... I'm proud."

_Proud_. So _Viking_.

"Sorry," Hiccup mumbled, suddenly embarrassed. "It's just...it's still a touchy subject."

_The claw down his arm. The crowd's screams. The whip._

Astrid tilted her chin and surveyed Hiccup the same way she would when walking through the forge, observing freshly-sharpened weapons.

"You're remarkably aggressive these days," she commented.

His face still cooling, Hiccup made a note of his own.

"And you're...remarkably calm."

Astrid gave a breathy, dry laugh.

"You learn to be patient when Gothi drones on and on for hours," she said.

This caught Hiccup's attention.

"You've been hanging around Gothi?" he asked. He was unaware of crossing his arms or leaning forward. "That must be amazing! She's probably full of stories."

Astrid shrugged, but the smile was back on her face.

"Yeah, I didn't think it would be my idea of a good time but she's not bad for an elder. I spend most of my time sorting and drying herbs with her. We've just begun planting new ones with the melt out of the way." Astrid paused a moment and added, "And by 'we' I mean 'me'. She claims she's too old and just watches me do the work, yaking all the while..."

"Wow," Hiccup commented, and he didn't say to word to fill in empty space. He was honestly shocked. Gothi was known for only speaking at the _oddest_ of time and even then, only to a few, select people. She otherwise maintained a resolute silence and mastered the use of gestures and pointed looks. "I wouldn't have thought you'd go for a job like that."

He always thought Astrid would worm her way into the political scene. A second-in-command, like Uncle Spitelout. Attending every war meeting and throwing forth battle ideas.

"She requested _me_ actually."

Hiccup settled back in his stance. "Did she?"

Astrid sounded proud again. Proud of something that had nothing to do with axe-wielding or dragon flying. Even as she complained, the fondness in her voice when she spoke of the Elder was unmistakable. She shared a bond with the older woman that few were entitled to.

There was so much he didn't know—details like _this_, what now made her happy—and it occurred to Hiccup that, in his intent to network and monitor other tribes, he neglected what was happening in his own village. To his peers.

He also realized this was the most he had spoken to Astrid in a long time. And it was easy, just like back when they used to hang out...

"Yeah..." Astrid said, and with much less enthusiasm and quite a deal more reverence, she added, "Also, Grund was courting me for a while." She paused here, watching him. "But I...I think it's going to end anyway. Gothi was taking up so much of my time..."

Hiccup fought down the impulse to swallow the spit that had suddenly pooled under his tongue because he didn't want to show any reaction to hearing Grund's name.

"That's the only reason he's stopping?" he forced himself to ask.

Astrid played with a forelock of her hair and nodded. When she spoke, her voice sounded far more nonchalant than her body language would lead him to believe. "He's trying to make me choose between him and Gothi, but I can't disrespect an elder like that so, obviously, I have to choose her. My parents would kill me if I did otherwise."

Hiccup bobbed his head. He didn't know if he was nodding or just doing something with his body to avoid speaking.

He couldn't blame Grund for wanting to move forward. The man was four years their senior, after all, and quite the warrior too. Astrid was a catch, but Grund had to move forward in his life.

Still... they would have been a great couple. The perfect couple, really. Even Hiccup couldn't deny that.

"Thanks," he murmured. "For telling me. I knew you were seeing Grund but I didn't know, you know, the details..."

_Shit._ Hiccup stopped speaking. Here she was, willing to unload all the things she felt he needed to know about her and there was _so much_ to tell her on his end. He couldn't keep his contacts a secret from her. Not if they were to be married.

He couldn't keep Camicazi a secret, even if they weren't in a courtship. It wasn't fair to anyone.

Ignorant to his thoughts, Astrid shrugged, acting unaffected. "I suppose things have to end anyway if we're getting married."

"I'm sorry." Hiccup didn't know _why_ he was still apologizing. They had already moved passed this. "You know, I told my dad to ask you first..."

"He did," Astrid said. "I said yes."

It was such a small admission, and yet Hiccup felt it changed everything.

"You said—? You _want _to?"

Astrid cocked an eyebrow. She was long-passed feeling self-conscious around an ex-suitor. Ever since he revealed that he still cared for her, in fact.

"I told you we were getting married, didn't I?" He could hear in her voice the thoughts of marrying against her will. She would have never allowed it to happen.

"Well, ah, sorry. You're right, yeah. I'm just still shocked by it all. I didn't know the details... like if you were just told by your parents or if my dad actually _listened_ to me for once..." He didn't know what he was saying anymore. She wanted to marry him. She still wanted him, after everything. After Grund. "I just didn't think... Well, I thought I was going to have to do all this _convincing_—"

"Yeah, yeah, seducing me. Wish I could have seen it." She was teasing, but Hiccup was too off-foot to appreciate it.

She made the conscious decision to marry him. It wasn't out of their hands. She wasn't being forced.

He had to confirm it. He didn't want her to feel like she was settling either.

"Are you sure? This is big. You'd be stuck with me. If you aren't ready I can pull some strings and push it back—"

She laughed. Again, it was short. Her usual hearty scoff.

"Hiccup, I've _always_ been ready."

She had, Hiccup realized. Astrid always had a plan in mind—an end game—where he took things day by day. It set them apart before because they never talked about it—they didn't know how to, they were children—but just _knowing_ this about themselves could make a world of a difference.

"I wanted to talk to you before now," Astrid said, taking his tightened jaw as shock. "I could never seem to find the right time. Or _you_."

"Yeah," He just noticed how close they were. Astrid started out at the door and he at his seat. Now they stood in the center of his small alcove, face-to-face. He could smell the sweat and forest on her. She had been training earlier.

"You've been so distant...gone all the time."

"I've been..." He searched for the word, "busy."

Astrid glanced down at her wrappings again. She did that, he noted, when she needed to gather her thoughts.

When she looked up again Hiccup could see the candle's flame reflecting in her eyes. Ice and fire and bright.

"I'm sorry if this threw a wrench in _your_ plans," she said.

After all his apologizing it felt weird hearing one from her.

"No," he said quickly. It put a damper on his plans, certainly, but it wasn't her fault. It was always unavoidable. "I said it before... I'm sorry for _you_. You had Grund and—"

"Hiccup," Astrid cut him off. "I'm _okay_ with marrying you..."

_Haustmábuður. _ That's when it would be, along with the harvest. Four months.

And Hiccup still couldn't understand _why_. "Which I'll never get. I—"

"He wasn't _you_."

That was her confession. Like his earlier, about still caring about her. Hiccup tried to swallow but his mouth had suddenly gone dry.

"Maybe you were right," Astrid said, still pushing forward. Hiccup suppressed the desire to make a quip about her admitting his correctness. It wasn't the time. "Maybe, maybe we both needed it."

"Maybe," he said, his voice as soft as the night.

She was different. She was still hard-edged and combinative. She still liked the sound of her own voice, especially when she had a point to make. But she was more reflective. More open.

_This could work_. For the first time since he heard of his marriage prospect, hope blossomed in Hiccup's chest.

Something about their words, or perhaps the dim atmosphere, charged the air around the former couple. It took strength to keep meeting her eyes at this proximity, and yet Hiccup felt the pull of them. He wanted to look away, to hide from this captivation, but he couldn't.

And she felt the same—he could tell. They were past reconciling. They were baring their souls to one another without control. Their worries and their wishes.

"Things wont be like they were though, will they?" she asked, her chin tilting.

That honeymoon phase when they first got together blanketed how ill-prepared they were for one another. Both in their first real relationships, the thrill of being with someone they were starting to know, the new world they were prepared to lead into… it seemed a lifetime ago.

They'd be cautious this time. They'd work _with_ each other. Hiccup reached out to cup her cheek.

"Maybe they'll be better."

The smile left his face at first contact. His fingertips trailed across her skin as he revisited old territory, recalling what he once forgotten. He focused in on her features; the blue of her eyes, the freckles beneath scars and the scars beneath freckles. He felt her hands run up his chest and fist in the collar of his tunic. She pulled him to her, held him to her, and Hiccup's stomach tightened at the familiarity of her assertiveness. Her attention was on his mouth, eyes flickering up to meet his before falling back to his lips. He knew what she wanted, what he wanted, he saw it in the tilt of her head, felt it in the pressing of her hips. He heard the bandages around her hands groan as her fingers twisted more tightly...

Restraint crumbled, caution thrown to the wind, and Hiccup followed Astrid's subtle tug to his clothes to meet her mouth in a kiss. The last time they kissed Hiccup was of equal height; it felt different now that he was taller. New and enthralling. Their mouths moved as one; slow, cautious and tasting.

_Astrid_. Her name tumbled in his mind. _He was kissing Astrid_.

She was back—_they_ were back—and the terror that came with the territory was back as well. Hiccup suddenly felt new at this, with the nervous excitement of a much younger boy coursing through his veins. Still, his arms encircled her waist and he pressed her to him. She tasted the same, but different. She fit in his arms different, against his body different. So familiar but so _different_. He wanted to re-explore this. To understand everything she had been up to in his absence. To learn about the woman she had become. To experience the woman she _would_ become.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he noted that Astrid didn't hold him like Camicazi did. She was firmer, less fluid and more fixed. Steady. Self-assured. Strong.

His lips only parted to draw breath—_he wanted more_—but Astrid took the opportunity to push him back. The effect was immediate.

"S-sorry," he stuttered involuntarily. His head was spinning and clearing all at once. How had that happened? What were they doing? They weren't ready for this.

"No, it's fine." Astrid had one hand to her temple and the other to her mouth. She wasn't looking at him. She was looking at the floor with wide eyes. "It's just—"

"I know," Hiccup cut her off. "Way too fast."

He still had to talk to Camicazi. Was Astrid still with Grund? They had nothing but strained and polite conversation since separating; what in Thor's braided beard possessed them to...?

Hiccup wanted to kick himself. He should have never touched her face as he had. He gave into a long suppressed desire, too enthralled with the idea of _marrying_ Astrid while realizing they could work together. Too intoxicated by the hope for their relationship.

"Yeah," Astrid agreed with a hard swallow. She was already backtracking to the door. "I—I'll see you tomorrow?"

_They could see each other every day now. She _wanted_ to see him. They could talk more. They could—_

"Yeah," Hiccup muttered dumbly before his mind could run off.

He had so much to do—_so much to do_—but the marriage seemed a little less daunting and a little more promising.

"Yeah..." he repeated. She had already left, he spoke to a swinging curtain, but he smiled anyway.

The burden on his shoulders lightened.

_This_, out of every other worry he carried, could work.

**########**

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><p><strong>########<strong>

Camicazi climbed through Hiccup's window the very evening after he sent letter requesting to meet with her. Her window entrance was something to be expected by now, the expression on her face was one he had only seen once before.

Concerned and apprehensive about the conversation he was about to have, Hiccup stood to greet her.

"Cami—"

"So it's true?" she said as she hopped over the sill. "You're getting married?"

Hiccup ran a hand through his hair, taken aback by her greeting given he hadn't mentioned the proposal in his letter.

"Ah, yeah, yeah... I was going to tell you..." He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes, "How did you..."

"You're not the only one with connections," Camicazi said. A hint of her saucy self resurfaced for a moment before. "It's her, right? Astrid?"

"I mean, none of it is _really_ set yet and things are...are awkward." Awkward, but promising. He could talk to her as easily as he remembered. He felt hope when he was with her. "Though, I'm not sure she's really broken up with Grund yet

"Congratulations."

Hiccup looked up from his thoughts.

"Thank you," he said. His words were sincere, because it meant a lot coming from her. "For everything," he continued. "For being with me, for helping me."

Camicazi grinned, but there was something muted about it. Her eyes were dark in thought.

"I did quite a bit for you, didn't I?" she agreed. "I broke a lot of rules—not just for a Bog but as an heir."

Hiccup winced. She was right. "I'm sorry," he said, though it sounded lame to his ears. Empty.

"I just want one thing from you," she said. She took another step towards him and something of the situation rang familiar to Hiccup, especially when she stepped into his personal space with so few words and gently touched her fingertips to his chest. "I need something."

Hiccup leaned back from the contact.

"Camicazi – remember when I said I was getting married...?"

She set her jaw, stubborn and insistent. "Just one last time."

"Camicazi—"

"Hiccup, I need an heir."

Her blunt words struck Hiccup dumb, and the air rang with silence after them. Camicazi stared directly into his eyes. Determination and passion and a hint of regret shined back at him.

"Cami..." he breathed when his lungs felt finally able to move.

"There is no one else I want," she said. "And I won't ask this of you when you're married, so please, _please_."

"I—Camicazi, I don't think I want a child outside of my marriage.

Her lips pulled back in a snarl and she stepped forward, poking his chest hard.

"Do you know how many men would _love_ to have a bog-daughter?" she hissed. "Would beg to have me touch them!?"

The shine in her eyes offset the fury of her words and Hiccup found himself unable to meet her gaze. She was hurt. He was hurting her.

"You don't know it's going to be a girl," he muttered. "I mean, if we even—"

Camicazi grabbed his face and forced him to look at her. Her scowl softened at the feel of the quickened pulse in his jaw.

"I know it's a lot to ask," she said, her voice as soft as the moonlight cast upon her cheeks. "But I broke traditions for you. I lied to my mother and tribeswomen—for _you_. For you I—I—"

Her speech faltered, yet Hiccup understood exactly what she was insinuating. The shame said it all.

"Cami..."

"So you can't do this to me, you can't just leave me completely now that _I_ need you. I just want an heir, that's all I want. So that I won't have to search elsewhere. And so that I can—so you—so that you won't leave me completely."

Her words spurred Hiccup into motion. He reached out and cupped her face.

"I could _never—_"

Camicazi closed her eyes, perhaps staining the feel of his palms against her skin to memory, and leaned forward until her forehead rested against his chin.

"Please," she whispered, and the word touched his throat like a delicate kiss. "Do this for me."

Hiccup brought his hands up to her shoulders, but he couldn't bring himself to push her away. He wanted an answer for her that was clear and clean, but he was starting to learn that nothing would ever be so simple as right as wrong, as he once tried to believe.

"I..."

He kissed Astrid only a _day_ ago. They were to be married.

And Camicazi was to continue her life of pirating and plundering, roving the seas. She would have a freedom he lacked, but she would not be exempt from expectation either. She _would_ have to provide an heir, just as her mother did, and her mother before her. Perhaps, she could find someone she cared about as much as him to help her.

She could find someone else. He could ask her to do this, so he wouldn't have to compromise his morals. Just like he asked her to listen to him babble about the, even when she followed that same Viking code. Just like he asked her to hold his hand and help him figure out his life when he first lost Astrid to politics and ethics.

Just like he asked her to act against her tribe and upbringing to meet him time and again, because she helped him make sense of the world with her simplistic thinking and base understanding of him.

Hiccup's fingers tightened around her shoulders.

"Okay," he mumbled, the same way he had their first time together. He pressed a kiss to her brow. "Okay."

He would indulge Camicazi one last time, because she asked it of him and he loved her. They could never say the words to each other; they could only show them. There were too many responsibilities, too many attachments to their own cultures. It was folly to utter, to entertain the idea of ever being together. But they could show each other. They _had _shown each other.

Hiccup would speak to Astrid on the morrow. He would tell her everything, of him and Camicazi, of his ambassador activities. And, after tonight, he would give himself completely to the woman he would marry.

Camicazi made a small noise of relief that sounded far too close to a sob for Hiccup's comfort. He dipped his head and kissed her slow and deeply, and in return she captured his head in the nook of her arms and clung to him. It made removing her clothes difficult but his fingers managed to take her fur vest off by one shoulder, then the other. He took his time, and planned to continue to take his time with her—to remember every movement, every noise—because it would be the last.

**########**

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><p><strong>########<strong>

**If you haven't figured it out yet** I first started writing this story for an excuse to practice writing sensual scenes. It ended up evolving into something much more complex - as everything I write tends to do.

So how was that transition back into Hicstrid territory? Predictable? Unexpected? Smooth? Choppy?

_**I had Hiccup have his last time with Camicazi _after _he reconciled with Astrid on purpose. While I could have made things so much easier and cleaner for Hiccup, that would have taken away the poignancy of his decision. He's making the conscious decision to compromise his morals _for_ Camicazi. Their relationship isn't one of romance. It's just... deep. They try to be what the other needs, sometimes it's a best friend, and sometimes it's a helping hand in fulfilling their tribal responsibilities._

Thank you **Sir Nick** for betaing even though you've been super busy with that awesome language German :)

Please **R&R! **I'd love to get some feedback. I don't need to tell you guys who weird and dangerous it is writing things like Hiccup and Astrid breaking up with that element of believability.


	8. Carrying the Can

**Carry the Can**

The letter of confirmation was folded neatly in his room, buried in a safebox where he filed several other letters of correspondence. He wished he had it with him… that he could just thrust it in Astrid's face and have her read for herself the subject he feared broaching...

Hiccup supposed he could always choose the option of _never_ telling her—but with his pattern of luck it would blow up in his face down the line when he least expected it.

So, lacking a proper excuse _not_ to tell her, and long before he felt ready, Hiccup entered the Nadder stables where Astrid buffed Sturmflae's saddle.

"Hey." His voice cracked at the tail end of his greeting and his hand faltered in a feeble wave.

Astrid looked up and smiled at him. "Hey yourself."

Hiccup felt even worse. That smile—he loved that smile. It would be sliding off her face sometime in the impending conversation.

They had been more than polite toward one another; nervous excitement making them giddy and friendly and awkward in every encounter. The wedding sped toward them and while they had so far avoided any more... _late night meetings_... they reinstated the habit of seeing each other daily.

"I—" He hesitated. _How much should he soften this?_ "I need to tell you something."

Astrid set down the rag gave him her full attention. "Alright."

Gods, he just wanted her to s_top smiling_. He wanted this to hurt as little as possible. He had no idea how she would react.

"Astrid it's-you're not going like this." Hiccup bit his lip and narrowed his eyes; he needed the right _words_ but they weren't coming to him. "So, you know how... how you were with Grund?"

Her eyebrow cocked and Hiccup realized he may already be off to a bad start.

"Uh huh..."

"And I... well I was off a lot. Gone. Not _gone_, but doing work. My own work. But that's not-" He took a breath. "I was also with Camicazi and we... well the result was..."

Astrid's smile was no where to be seen. It didn't make it easier. "Spit it out Hiccup."

"She's pregnant."

There was a pause; a surreal stretch of silence. Then a panic for explanation seized him. "I—she asked and I couldn't—I couldn't _not_—Astrid, she _needed _it. An heir! It was all for the heir! Her tribe, what they do—they... She's my best friend. After everything—everything she's done for me—I couldn't, I couldn't just say '_no'_. And she understands! She wants us to get married. This was just, it was the only thing she asked of me and I—I'm so sorry. I never thought, I mean—_gods_, I'm sorry! I'm just... I'm sorry."

He felt short of breath. His mouth spoke but his mind felt empty. His emotions trapped. All the words sounded _wrong_ to him but he couldn't, for the life of him, think of anything _better_.

Astrid didn't say anything for a long while. It could have been regret, but every heartbeat that she remained silent staring at the floor felt an eternity.

"Astrid...?" Hiccup managed to utter through a dry mouth. He wanted her to _do_ something because he didn't know where to go from here.

Sturmflae squawked, tired of waiting for the grooming to commence, and trod out of the barn.

There was a quiet quaver in Astrid's voice when she did speak.

"Were you still with her...when we were together?"

"No!" Hiccup's answer came quick, even before his brain could pull enough memories to confirm it. His time with Camicazi seemed to blur into his time away from Astrid. He struggled to see where one ended and the other began. "Gods no! I— There was that kiss, remember? That was it. And then when I found out about the marriage contract for us she said—"

"Did you break up with me to be with her?"

"_No," _Hiccup said as sharply and fiercely as he could so that she would know he _meant_ it. His face felt hot and his fingers cold. "It just... I—I would see Camicazi from time to time, and it became more... more frequent-"

"More than _see_, apparently," Astrid said coolly.

"I never meant for it to ever... it all just _happened_. Especially after her... ah, I can't remember what it was she called it, but she needed me. Wuh-well she said she did anyway and I owed her—"

Astrid walked past him, out of the barn. Panic addled him.

"Astrid, _listen to me_!" Hiccup grabbed her arm to stop her and Astrid spun around so fast he stumbled back a bit.

"Why should I?" Her voice was rough. "You knowingly got another woman pregnant _and_ agreed to marry me—" She was breathing heavily. Her eyes were bright.

Hiccup gathered his bearings under the intensity of her gaze and tried to explain something that should have never been forced into words.

"I was with Camicazi, yes. She's my best friend and she _needed_ me. She needed an heir—it was all she wanted, I swear—and she—"

Astrid looked outraged, "It was all she wanted? Yeah, just your first born child—nothing big—"

"You don't understand them—"

"Who's _them_?!"

"The Bogs!" Hiccup's voice automatically rose in accordance with hers. "What they expect out of her—" He stopped. Hiccup barely understood the Bog culture himself, and what he did understand came from knowing Camicazi. Her expressions and body movements and tone of voice when she spoke of things shared between only them. There was no way, not for all his charisma, that Hiccup would ever be able to properly articulate Camicazi's position without making the situation worse.

Hiccup had trouble meeting Astrid's eyes. He kept focus on her boots, feeling the barest tendrils of relief that she hadn't tried to walk away again.

"Look," Hiccup started again. "It's all in the past. I was with Cami, you were with Grund."

"But not like _that_—" Though Astrid knew it was only because they hadn't gotten close enough. _Grund_ had certainly wanted to. He likely would have tried to marry her if not for the contract.

"Grund wasn't your best friend," Hiccup snapped. He was frustrated. He felt terrible and annoyed—mostly at himself for being incapable of finding the words, somewhat at Camicazi for the position she put him in, somewhat at Astrid for being _Astrid_—even though she had every right to be upset. "I didn't do it because I—" He took another breath and tried to start again. "I did it because—because after _everything_ Camciazi's done for me... Astrid, I _owed her_. I know I keep saying that, and I can't explain it right, but it's the truth. Compared to what she faced—well, I think it was only right I did what I could to—" he faltered, unbidden memories returning, "to do a-as she asked."

He bit his lip. She hadn't left again, but the severity in her stance hadn't lessened either. He tried to collect all the gentleness he could after his outburst.

"Astrid, I care about you. A lot. You know this. I might even—"

He couldn't say it. It wasn't time and it wasn't... well, he didn't know if it was or wasn't true. What he felt for Astrid was simply..._different_ than what he felt for Camicazi. Different types of love with different potentials.

"You were—you and I can be so happy together," _and he believed that,_ "but we need to be honest with each other too. I just found out that's she's... well... and I wanted you to know. She's a Bog so it's not like we'll raise it together or anything. It probably won't affect _us_ at all. You just... you deserved to know," he finished lamely, his verve dropping with each passing word.

"Hiccup..." Astrid sounded tired, weary, like she couldn't stand to endure his voice any longer but he felt compelled to keep talking.

"I was with Camicazi before you," he said. "We were close long before you even looked my way—" and while he didn't mean it as an argument against Astrid, Hiccup noticed her gaze dropped with his words. "She's my best friend. These are all true."

"I need to go," Astrid said. "Gothi's expecting me."

"Astrid..."

It felt like when they first separated—like they were walking away from each other with so many unsaid things. She had to have seen the breakup coming, back when she was more disappointed in him for giving up than surprised. But now... now Astrid's breathing was shallow, and her mouth twitched as though she wanted to scream but didn't know _what_ to scream. This time, she wasn't prepared in any way.

Hiccup felt an overwhelming impulse to bring her comfort and he reached out.

"No," she said powerfully, with a hand held out to keep him from touching her. "I think—I don't think we should see each other until the wedding."

Hiccup bit down his initial reaction to cry out his protest. This is what she did—she needed to get away, to process this, to keep her control.

"Astrid, please."

"Just... just give me some time, Hiccup."

He didn't try to stop her when she walked away this time.

Hiccup desperately hoped Toothless wasn't down for an afternoon nap, because nothing but a good, long fly could keep him from going straight to the Meade Hall.

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Hiccup respected Astrid's wishes for a full week and a half.

Then he sought her out again.

"Hiccup, no," Astrid said as soon as she saw him at her door step. "I _told_ you, I can't—I don't want to see you until the wedding."

"Really? Is that what you want?" Hiccup did his best to stare her down for honesty, even with her jaw set forward and her lips pressed thin.

"Yes," she said stubbornly, but her grip on the door had eased, even as she tried to close it.

Hiccup stepped forward, one foot over the threshold, and stopped the door with his hand. There was no resistance on her end.

"Astrid, _please_," he urged. "Can we just—"

"Talk? We already talked."

"No _I_ talked and you—" She glowered. "Uh, you had every right to react the way you did."

Astrid bit her lip and looked behind her. Then she stepped out of her house, shoving Hiccup backwards with one hand as she closed the door behind her. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"You have a woman pregnant with your child," she said. Direct, but calm. Worlds better than when they last spoke of it.

"Yes," Hiccup agreed. "I'm truly_, truly_ sorry, Astrid. You have to know that. But I promise you, it won't affect _us._"

Astrid's eyes widened dangerously. "How will it not affect us? You said yourself she was your best friend. And now she has your first kid? Do you realize—"

"She also _wants_ me with you!" Hiccup said loudly over her.

A murmur of noise pulled both their attention to where Greta Henderson and her two children passed. The women gave them an odd look before yanking her gawking kids back on the path towards the village square.

"Excuse me?" Astrid hissed.

"Camicazi _wants_ me with you," Hiccup repeated. "She thinks..." he suddenly felt hot around the collar, "she thinks we're good together."

Astrid didn't say anything to that. She didn't know _what_ to say. Her face was set, determinedly fixed on the siding of her house. Hiccup waited; somehow knowing she would speak again. And after a moment of staring at the wall, she did.

"Do you know what this feels like for me?" she asked. She still didn't look at him.

"I—" He stopped. He tried to picture their roles reversed. If Astrid had a child with Grund, even if that child wouldn't be involved in their lives. The feeling wasn't pleasant.

Astrid took a deep breath. "We were both... emotionally invested in other people when this contract was done up."

Hiccup nodded, hopeful. "We were—"

"Quiet," she snapped. "I'm saying that we were with other people and we made... made _choices_ with those other people. Stupid choices in some cases—"

Hiccup frowned and opened his mouth, but Astrid thrust a finger into his chest so hard he stumbled backward.

"But let me tell you something, Hiccup," she said with a tone that matched the sudden ferocity of her actions. "I am nobody's _second_."

"O-of course you're not."

"_I_ come first. _Not any Bog_."

"You will!" Hiccup gasped out. "You do!"

Astrid leaned back a bit, but distrust still clouded her features.

"Yet _she's_ carrying your first child." The fact she kept bringing up. The fact she couldn't let go.

"She is," Hiccup consented. There was no excusing that.

"And you gave her that."

"But I didn't _want_ to," Hiccup said quickly. "It was a promise I made to her. I told you, I owed her!"

For a moment hilarity flickered across Astrid's features, as though an amusement she didn't want to indulge in passed through her mind. "You owed her your... your..."

Hiccup looked away, embarrassed.

"I said it's complicated," he muttered.

He was going to have a daughter—a daughter he probably wouldn't see, but she would exist. He wanted to talk to someone about it—to a human, because Toothless's reassurances, while appreciated and well needed, couldn't soothe him in words. He wanted to talk to Astrid about it, but he could see now it would just be cruel to her.

Astrid gave a long, suffering sigh.

"Whatever. It's done. I don't want to see her or the kid. Okay? Just keep that whole... whole _thing_ away from me."

Hiccup found himself nodding without really hearing her. The wash of relief left him so light headed that it nearly knocked him off his feet. He fought the urge to hug her.

"I will, yeah. Astrid, I—thank you."

"I'm still pissed," she warned him, but it couldn't weigh him down.

"I know," he assured her. "So... so we're good?"

She gave him a wry smile. "We're... better."

"I'll take better." His posture was relaxed—more relaxed than it had been in days—but Hiccup felt jittery. He wanted to hop on Toothless and do a series of fast turns and tight loops. He wanted to grab Astrid and kiss her because they were going to be _okay_...

"Where have you been, anyway?" Astrid asked, breaking into his daze. "You keep flying off for long periods... and your dad keeps asking me where you're going. He thinks you're lying about hunting trips. I _know_ you are."

Hiccup hadn't realized he'd been staring at the sky. The question caught him off guard; some unease seeped back into his gut. He hadn't spoken to _anyone _on Berk about his intertribal activities. "Ah, that's a... well..."

Astrid frowned. "You don't have to tell me."

"No, I—" Hiccup knew he was already on thin ice with her and still he hesitated. They would be married in a couple months; the fewer secrets between them the better. Still, she so often sided with the _village_ unless there was an agreeable, valid reason not to.

_If she could be trusted with Toothless, she could be trusted with this, _Hiccup mentally coached himself. More importantly, he didn't want her coming to the conclusion that he was visiting Camicazi every time he left. That would be every sort of bad.

"I want to show you something." He grabbed her her hand without thinking and felt her automatically pull back. He looked back at her. "_Please_." He didn't beg or question. He stared her in the eyes and said it like a command. "I'll show you everything."

Astrid's hand closed around his—hesitant, returning the grip—and it was all the consent he needed.

Hiccup led her through the streets, hand and hand, up the hill to his home. Heads turned as they passed and murmurs trailed behind. One of the Thorston twins made a howling noise from a distance that left it impossible to tell which it was. When they entered his father's house Hiccup shut the door and gestured for her to follow him the stairs to the loft. Astrid followed, but her face was twisted in suspicion.

"What exactly are you showing me?" she asked when he ducked beneath his bed. "Where is your dad?"

"Gobber's," Hiccup answered shortly. He popped back up with the safe box he crafted and plopped it on the bed. Astrid stepped forward with piqued interested.

Hiccup looked up at her, his hands braced against the lid.

"There's something you need to know if we're getting married," he said solemnly.

He un-latched the metal fastening and removed the lid. Scrolls and leafs of parchment, each marked with different strings of color and different penmanships. Hiccup pulled the top one out and handed it to Astrid.

"This is Viscious from the Visithugs," Hiccup explained as her eyes skimmed the contents. "They're having trouble with Gronkles nesting in their usual hunting grounds. You see, I've realized that without the Red Death forcing them to nest in one spot, dragons are trying to relocate and it's interfering with Viking settlements. Particularly in the northwest."

Hiccup pulled another scroll from the box. "This one's from Hamwise in Bashem. They can't get a horde of Sculdrons to stop attacking their fishing boats. I'm due to fly out there tomorrow or the next day. See if I can figure out a good way to subdue them..."

Astrid gingerly set down the letter in her hand and sank onto Hiccup's bed. She slowly shook her head as her fingers absently rifled through the contents of the box, noting the senders.

"Hiccup, I don't understand... Why are _you_ getting these? Shouldn't they at least be addressed to your father?

"My father is busy being _Berk's_ chief. You think he cares about how other villages are fairing with _their_ dragon problems?" His gaze dropped to the box and his stomach twisted as it often did.

"That's why you were at the Rudeboy riot..." she realized.

Hiccup peered up at her through his bangs. "Don't you get it? I brought this on us. This was me."

And then Astrid started to _understand_.

She pried the scroll from Hiccup's hand and placed the letters back in the box, pushing the entire case away from Hiccup.

"Listen to me, Hiccup," she began strongly. "You can't fix everything."

His focus was still on the strongbox. "Maybe not. But do you see now? We can't move forward when we're such a mess here. No one can."

"The _other_ villages are moving forward," Astrid pointed out. "We set the example—and it's a _good thing_—but we need to stay the example. We need to beat them—"

"No we don't," Hiccup interrupted. It was the same issue that tore them apart in the first place, but they had the safety net of a marriage contract beneath them now, as well as the stubbornness to be heard out. "We need to do this _right_. Other villages are in worse conditions than we are and if they try to spread their borders now they're just going to be spreading their problems as well." He paused, because Astrid looked so taken aback by his intensity. "Astrid, when I first touched Toothless, and I realized how wrong everything had been. I envisioned a world with structure and fairness."

"We have that," Astrid immediately piped up.

"We _don't_." Hiccup's feet had him pacing the floor without him realizing it. "We're not ready to move forward yet. Someday, sure—but first we need to fix ourselves. The dragons are still getting used to us, and we're still getting used to the dragons. I love them but...I don't even know their intentions yet! If you knew some of the things in those letters..."

He wouldn't tell her about some of the darker reports he had gotten—most recently the Nadder that had tried eating a sleeping child right out of her bed. The girl now had a missing arm at six years old.

"It sounds idealistic Hiccup, I'll give you that, but sitting around _adjusting_ isn't going to benefit us when the other tribes are gaining power and lands thanks to a war _we_ ended."

"I'm working on it," he said with a droll wave of his hand towards the box. Astrid stared at the letters once more. Her eyes narrowed in thought.

"The heirs?" it was the only thing she could think that they all had in common. Hiccup nodded.

"Thuggory's due to take over the Meatheads in a few months' time... not so long after our wedding. I've got him agreeable enough on all my policies I want to eventually propose."

"So you're getting the next-in-lines to slow down with you..." Astrid sat forward excitedly. "Hiccup, that's brilliant!"

"It's exhausting," Hiccup stated. But rewarding anytime they listened to him without batting down his input with old viking mentalities. That's why Hiccup needed Astrid on board with this. He needed her on his side, because without her, he was finding, his voice on Berk wasn't strong enough to penetrate the thick skulls of the Hooligans.

"I'll bet if you just explain some of this to the village, I'm sure they'd support you."

Hiccup gave a loud, incredulous laugh. "Let my dad know I'm aligning with heirs of tribes that he thinks are still enemies? No. No, no. No. Astrid, you cannot tell _anyone_, okay?"

Astrid rolled her eyes. "You don't need all this secrecy all the time. Have a little faith in people."

"It's not secrecy, it's subtly," he countered. "And it's not just _my_ dad that can't know, it's the leaders of other tribes. We're—the other heirs and I—are trying to erase an old way of thinking. If I can get enough support from the tribes of my contacts, then tribes like the Outcasts or Berserks won't abuse a relationship with dragons if it means going against half the Archipelagos.

"If it gets out too soon... I'm afraid the older crowd will shut it all down. They'll fight it, no matter how well-intentioned it is. You know how they are about tradition and history."

Astrid could see his point, even if she didn't appreciate the jab at their traditions. While his ambitions were so far-fetched they hardly seemed plausible, it was still _Hiccup_. If anyone could create a United Dragon Alliance of sorts between old warring tribes, it was him.

"At least throw Berk a bone about this," she suggested. "Give them a better reason to hold off on conquering besides: _'it's wrong'_. Oh! I know—tell them about Thuggory! You got Thuggory to agree to your ideas, right? If we get a neighboring tribe like the Meatheads to hold off on expanding their territory, then the council may follow suit!"

"Well, that's the eventual idea," said Hiccup, pleased that she appeared taken with the idea. "As soon as Thuggory takes over, we have a plan of approaching my father with a pact about using dragons for war. But it has to be from _Thuggory_. They won't hear it from me."

"That's not true, Hiccup," Astrid said reproachfully.

"Or... or they'll listen to _you_," Hiccup gasped, ignoring the comment.

Astrid sat back. "Me? No... "

"The others," Hiccup said quickly, "Snotlout and them, they would have never gotten on dragons to follow me if you hadn't explained it to them first. I could never have approached them. Not on my own. They don't," he took a breath, "they don't _get_ me. I just need a liaison–and you can be my translator."

"What?" Astrid laughed. "We speak the same language."

"We don't."

"Hiccup, you're perfectly capable of addressing the council on your own," Astrid deadpanned. She wondered if their time apart had undid all of her work in trying to make him more direct with people.

"Oh come on, you've seen the way they look at me when I speak." His tone wasn't self-depreciating. Just frank.

"That's because you go about it the wrong way," she told him. "You talk about things they don't want to hear in ways they aren't used to understanding."

"That's my point!" Hiccup stood in front of her and gestured to his body. "I'm not going to change who I am. I'm not okay with how some things are done, and when I become chief I'm not going to turn a blind eye to something just because it's tradition. I won't compromise what I believe is right just because people think it makes me look weak!"

Astrid was staring at him so intently that he immediately felt self-conscious for shouting.

"That is what you're going to marry," Hiccup added, looking away.

A slow grin broke out across her face and Astrid pushed off from the bed to stand toe-to-toe.

"I'm a tough girl. I think I can handle it."

She cupped his face, leaned forward, and kissed him. It was soft and short. A gentle press of her lips against his before drew back to look at him.

Hiccup gaped at her. "What was that for?"

Astrid smiled wider. "I may not agree with all of it, but I'm proud of you. This whole thing... with the heirs. It's incredible. You stopped a war and now you're trying to change the world."

"It was-someone else's idea," said Hiccup, quickly remembering the promise he made Astrid earlier about mentioning Camicazi. "Er—well, it wasn't really _their_ idea, but it was their crazy talking that inspired it."

"But it was you that made it happen," she reminded him. "You're actually doing something to back up your words. That's all I wanted. To see you taking charge."

Hiccup shrugged a shoulder and rubbed his arm. His face was incredibly hot. "I never wanted to be in-charge before I got to know you," he said, trying not to sound as bashful as he felt. "You made me think I could be... well, a leader."

Toothless taught him how to have confidence in himself. Toothless taught him the meaning of true selflessness. Toothless taught Hiccup how to be a better person. But outward, Astrid had influenced him too; she had shown him a different kind of strength. Toothless helped Hiccup find his beliefs and Astrid showed him his voice.

Astrid smiled and tucked her bangs behind her ear. "I didn't think you could be until I got to know you."

"This'll work, right?"

He didn't know if he spoke about them—their marriage—or the life he set up.

"It'll work."

Her confidence set his mind at ease, as it always had.

"Hiccup!" Stoick's voice roared from below, causing both teens to jump. "Git down here _now! _I got a letter from Bertha I want tae talk to you about!"

"You didn't tell him?" Astrid hissed.

"I wanted to tell you first!" he hissed back

She _almost_ looked pleased with him.

"Hiccup!" Stoick roared again.

"You're on your own," Astrid whispered. She pushed him towards the stairs, giving him a pat on the butt for luck.

**########**

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** A/N: It's been a while, eh?**

Sorry guys, as much as tumblr annoys me, I still got sucked in… especially writing drabbles and sketching. It's distracting. I've been slowly posting the drabbles on this site in 'A Dribble of Dragon Drabbles'.

**This chapter wasn't beta'd, so any glaring grammatical/spelling errors being pointed out would be greatly appreciated. **(Sorry! You guys deserve quality, I know.)

Please let me know your thoughts! Was it too confusing? Was Astrid too forgiving? Too dramatic?

Next up: A consummation scene! (not mindless porn sillies; it's relevant to their relationship)


	9. Covering Bases

***WARNING*: This chapter contains mature content. About halfway through will be a described consummation scene. It's not that sexy. It's not that awkward either. You have been warned**

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><p><strong>Covering the Bases<strong>

Up until that point, Hiccup thought the worst of the "advice" had been shared at his grooming ceremony before the wedding.

"Gyrate man. It's all about the gyrating."

But during his grooming ceremony, before the wedding, they were sober. Now all filters were off.

"No, no, you gotta do this—" Tuffnut did something lewd and quite impossible with his fingers, and then proceeded to make wild and painful looking gestures with his hands.

Hiccup grimaced. "Uh, I don't think—"

"More wrist!" Snotlout barked. "You need more wrist!"

Fishlegs looked horrified. Hiccup quickly shook his head at him from across the table.

Snotlout caught the motion and scoffed. "What do _you_ know—"

A shadow settled over the table, silencing all the boys, and the heavy hand on his shoulder saved Hiccup from further comment. He looked up and saw his father towering over him with a kind, albeit uneasy, expression.

"It's time, son," Stoick said. His mustache barely twitched.

Hiccup nodded and pushed away from the table. The hoots of his peers left him rattled. His stomach fluttered. When he stood, his head felt clamped and fuzzy from the weight of his drinking. He carefully moved to the twin oak doors where Astrid already waited for him, along with her mother, Phlegma, and Ruffnut. The women whispered and cackled around her, but Astrid's eyes were locked on his. Darkened, piercing and troubled.

It was like coming down from a high. He couldn't feel his legs move him towards the door and away from the heat of the Mead Hall. The collar of his shirt was damp with sweat.

"Hey," Astrid said softly as he joined her at the threshold. Hiccup hadn't seen her since they shared the bridal-ale and their attentions were pulled to others. Her face was pinker since then, either from drink or agitation, and her dress more rumpled with spots of food and drink.

He couldn't have looked much neater.

"Hey," Hiccup returned after a hard swallow. He wished he had a glass of water. Something to cleanse the taste of mead from his tongue.

They stared at each other. The Feast was over. The Night was next.

"Off yeh go!" Phlegma bellowed. Her brow was shiny and cheeks ripe from wine. She and Spitelout began nudging each other and chortling.

Astrid leveled a scowl at the pair, disapproving, but muttered, "let's go."

The traditional race _to_ the Mead Hall hadn't been much of a race; Hiccup was a fine sprinter, even with a prosthetic, but Astrid's endurance paid off, dress and all.

_Exiting_ the Mead Hall turned out to be a different affair entirely. Hiccup and Astrid left together at a matched pace; their entourage followed behind with their torches held high to light the way.

Three steps into the cool, Friggdag air and Astrid hooked her arm through his and hurried him away from the party. The action left Hiccup startled; he was inclined toward the exact opposite. The night had suddenly ended too soon, and the Mead Hall hailed him with its glow and noise and safety.

"Just trying to put some distance between us and them," Astrid said through the corner of her mouth, as though sensing his incertitude. They did manage some space between them and their train. The paths became harder to see with the firelight at their backs, but it was worth it to get away from the ribbing and knowing grins.

"Too much socializing?" Hiccup asked. He tried to focus on her face without stumbling along the path. Their home—their new home—approached at an alarming speed.

Astrid gave a breathy laugh, full of bravado he wouldn't have been able to sense a years ago.

"_I_ can handle long parties. It's you I was worried about."

A sprig defensiveness struck him.

"I managed," he griped.

His next step caught on a loose stone and it was only Astrid's hold around his arm that kept him from crashing down.

"How much have you had to drink?" she teased. Still, she pulled him closer and Hiccup gripped the hand she rested on his arm, his thumb pressing across her knuckles.

"Maybe more than you," he admitted.

With the final and most harrowing ceremony ahead of him all night, every offered mead refill looked too appetizing to turn down.

Astrid stumbled a bit on the hem of her dress, just at the steps of their new home.

Hiccup laughed—short and loud—forgetting himself. Astrid whacked him in the chest with a closed fist, drawing a grunt from him. Still, Hiccup wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his hold.

His new—_almost_—wife.

Astrid tilted her head up, nose bumping against his, and peered at him through her lashes. With only starlight, he could see the mirth fade from the corners of her eyes. Her gaze betrayed vulnerability, an understanding that filled him with a protective, connective energy.

"It's almost over," she whispered.

"I know," he said back, just as soft.

In that moment they weren't about to consummate their marriage. They were teasing and breathless, faces flushed with mead and desire. They were in a familiar embrace and comfortable state.

"Hold up you two!" Phlegma barked. She hurried ahead with her torch held high. The moment broke; awareness came rushing in. The house Hiccup had designed and constructed, as negotiated into the mundr (despite skepticism from both sides of the new family), materialized at their side. Raw, paintless, undented wood.

Their followers were alighted before them—the witnesses and their torches, the friends and guests who tagged along.

"Gotta carry her through, Hiccup!" Snotlout cackled from somewhere behind Sven and Burnthair's wall of shoulders.

Hiccup remembered the next step in this much-too-long process; carrying his bride over the threshold of their new house. Astrid slid an arm around his neck and pulled herself so tightly against his body that her forehead brushed his cheek.

"Can you carry me?" she murmured. She kept her voice low, half for her appearance's sake, half for his.

He nearly felt offended at the question. Of anyone to doubt him, it shouldn't have been _her_.

Then he heard it—a croaking, curious bark from above. Hiccup craned his neck. A pair of luminous green spheres cut through dark and he knew his dragon was perched on the roof. A trill of assurance thread through his spine, settling of his nerves and heating his cold fingers.

He smiled.

"Are you wearing any armor I don't know about?" he asked.

She cocked an eyebrow. "Not tonight."

"Then probably."

"You don't have to," Astrid said kindly, still in that soft voice. She knew he could on any given day-_she had to have_-but tonight she worried about the little things. "If your leg—"

Hiccup ducked a bit and swept her legs up into the crook of his other arm. She gripped his shoulders on reflex, a sudden intake of air swelling her chest.

"I think you're underestimating what repeated swinging of a hammer does to one in a forge," he said with a slight grin.

She was heavy, alright. The weight and muscle she put on since her younger years was evident as soon as he lifted her.

Nothing he couldn't manage for small while.

An unbidden, cruel memory jumped to the forefront of his mind—_the last girl he'd picked up was Camicazi_—before he violently threw it back. Tonight, and every night after this, would be about Astrid. He could never revisit such memories. Especially not now.

Steeled, he step through the open door of their freshly built home—_their home_—ignoring the calls and cheers of those behind them.

Astrid craned her neck back and openly admired the woodcraft and space.

"It looks great," she said honestly. Much of the woodwork was unfinished; unfurnished and undefined. But the structure was there. The promise of a home.

"You can explore it tomorrow," Hiccup told her. His hands felt clammy beneath the fabric of her dress and he was more afraid she'd accidentally slip from his grip than drop her. Stepping into the space somehow added a new burden of expectation.

He could hear others following him in. His father. The steady _clunk-clunks_ of the Gothi's cane and Gobber's leg. Phlegma's whistle. Snotlout's jeering before Hiccup's uncle shoved him back outside and shut the door.

"Ignore them," Astrid murmured when his next step faltered.

Hiccup allowed a moment to take comfort in her breath against his cheek, her weight in his arms. He nodded, and slowly set her down in front of the door to their bedroom.

The newlyweds faced the witnesses: The elder, the chief, his three commanders, and Astrid's mother. Glüm stepped forward and gently pulled Astrid away from Hiccup.

"We'll take it from here," she told him. She and the elder herded Astrid into the bedchamber for preparation. Phlegma followed, laying a lewd wink on Hiccup as she passed.

Hiccup was, once again, left at the intolerable mercy of his father's stare. His uncle Spitelout grinned at him. Gobber, his mentor, was looking around the modest living space and nodding—but then, Gobber never had much interest in women no matter how many songs he sang of them in jest.

Hiccup met his father's gaze, saw the discomfort and embarrassment reflected in a different shade of green eyes, and suddenly had to stifle a laugh. He didn't know _why _since he had his own wavering distress to wrestle with.

"Dad, it'll be fine," he said, and he took some verve in getting to comfort someone other than himself. Hiccup held his father's eye, willing the man to understand.

"Of course it will be," Stoick agreed, but Hiccup could sense the unwanted placating.

"Astrid knows," Hiccup added. "Everything."

"Aye?" Stoick paused a surprised look on the door hiding the four women. He smiled. "You're a lucky one, Hiccup."

Hiccup allowed a small smile in the same direction. He really was.

The door opened—Hiccup jumped—and Astrid's mother poked her head outside.

"Hiccup, she's ready."

She stepped aside, candlelight spilling out in a treacherous invitation.

What little confidence Hiccup garnered in the last moments fled. He resisted the urge to sink to the floor as his unsteady legs begged of him.

"In yeh go, son," his father said, giving him a "light" push to get him moving. Hiccup stumbled inside, every footstep behind him as loud as thunder.

The smell hit him first—fresh of unsettled wood and oil, much like the rest of the home. Goldgubber decorated the stands and floors around the bed, welcoming fertility. He might have thrown up if he had a weaker stomach.

Astrid sat on edge of the bed, her hair lighted by soap and reaching the hue of starlight, loose and curled around her shoulders. The dress was gone and in its place a soft-cotton robe preserved her modestly. It hung loose enough to expose the skin above her breastbone. White, freckled, ribbed. Hiccup nearly forgot the witnesses.

Nearly.

The ring he made shined on her finger and Hiccup felt heat spread through his gut. He couldn't tell if he were more excited or terrified. His father nudged him again and he hurried over to Astrid. He felt oddly safer near her. She stood from the bed, her face set and hard. Her eyes focused.

He removed her bridal crown with trembling hands he couldn't quite sooth, his head still fuzzy from the mead, for which he was both thankful for and concerned about. He didn't perform his best when under the influence. In anything.

Glüm was closest to them so Hiccup handed the intricate headdress to her. As soon as his hands were free he reached out and grasped Astrid's. She seemed shocked at the action.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Her shock lingered a moment longer, caught off guard by the question that followed. Then she nodded once, very firmly, very stern. She pulled a quick, tight smile that might have been for his assurance or her own. She wanted to keep this as simple and straightforward as she could, Hiccup knew that much.

He took a breath, gave Astrid a wan smile of his own, and turned to address the witnesses. He was first drawn to his father—as always—who appeared, predictably, expressionless. The Chief Face, as Hiccup had come to call it.

"Well, get on with it!" Spitelout grunted.

Hiccup ignored him. He looked his father straight in the eye and, despite his intestines doing a rough dance better suited for the Feast floor, said in an unwavering voice, "I read the by-laws… you don't _have_ to be present."

Eyebrows raised. Gobber chuffed.

"There just have to be six legal witnesses to identify us," Hiccup continued quickly, before anyone could object. He gestured to himself and Astrid with his free hand. "Consider us identified."

From his side, Astrid smiled. It was _just_ like Hiccup to try and find a loophole for something he didn't want to do. For once, she approved.

"Then how will we know you did it?" Gobber needled and Astrid's smile turned into a not-so-subtle stink eye for his difficulty. It went ignored. "You expect us tae listen in?"

"Sure, put a mug to the door for all I care," Hiccup responded. Astrid's attention flew to him—he could sense it. Half-scandalized, half-hurt. He kept his gaze on the gathering at their door, but his hand held hers tighter.

_She_ taught him this—to hold his ground fast and hold his head high. Vikings don't listen to those who falter.

"I will remain," Gothi volunteered.

Silence reigned.

"Good enough fer me," Phlegma shrugged. "Come on, Glüm, dear. You lucked out."

Astrid's mother didn't bother to hide her relief.

"Remember, love," she told Astrid as she allowed Phlegma to guide our out. Hiccup didn't know _what_ Astrid was meant to remember—he was too uneasy to contemplate it. Glüm grabbed Spitelout and Gobber on the way out with whatever was more available to her.

"Oi!"

"Och! That's me beard, woman!"

Only Stoick lingered, uncertain.

"Dad," Hiccup pleaded. He allowed an edge to his voice. "You fulfilled your role."

Stoick appeared torn. He didn't want to break a tradition that he knew to be true, Hiccup could tell that much about his father. But something in his face, in the sagging of his shoulders, told Hiccup that Stoick wished _he_ had the forethought to look up the laws back when he wed. Mindlessly following tradition wasn't always the best course of action.

Stoick gave Gothi a helpless look. The old woman scowled—hilariously similar to the one Astrid directed at Gobber earlier—and made a shooing motion with her gnarled hands.

Not even Stoick the Vast would defy the village elder. He nodded.

"Alright, son," he said, gruff, and he turned.

The young couple sagged against each other the moment Stoick left the room. A look was shared, a small victory. Hiccup imagined he wore the same timid smile as Astrid.

'_Thank you,'_ she mouthed. He squeezed her hand, swelling with happiness.

"Next, the clothes are removed."

The croaking voice startled the pair. Hiccup jerked so hard that Astrid's hand was thrown from his grip.

"Ah, ah, Gothi—" he started.

"We know," Astrid said quickly. Her hand reached up to wipe her bangs back, forgetting they were already brushed into her hair.

Gothi cast a shrewd gander over the fidgeting pair, and then clunked her staff once against the ground.

"I will face the wall," she announced. She did just that.

Hiccup turned to Astrid. Suddenly he was too aware of the bed and her robe and how heavy his clothes weighed on him.

He wanted to take this slow, to kiss her and coax her—coax himself—into being comfortable with having _this_ pushed onto them. But the village elder was two arm spans away. She could hear everything. She could look over her shoulder at anytime.

His hands jumped to his belt, a reflexive gesture, and froze. Astrid's presence became so unsettling he didn't know what to do next.

She gripped his shoulder and leaned her head close to his.

"Come on, Hiccup," she said in soothing undertones, low enough to keep the elder from hearing. "This is happening. You've already made it as painless as you could."

"Yeah," he breathed, his nerves ablaze against her words and logic.

"Also…" Astrid gave his belt a light tug. "It's not really fair that I've been undressed and you haven't."

A hint of a smile lit her eye; it countered the tight corners that betrayed her unease. Hiccup twisted his mouth and nodded. Tonight would be awkward no matter what—too many people were aware of what they were doing. An entire village of them waited, some outside the room, some inside.

But after tonight it would be better. He had to hold onto that hope.

"Right," Hiccup blew out. He unfastened his belt and pulled it from his waist.

He left his formal cloak in the Mead Hall. The air was so warm he hadn't noticed, or perhaps it was his overheated body. The belt dropped, his leggings loosened underneath his dress tunic.

It wasn't until he kicked off his shoe did Hiccup notice how still Astrid had gone. Her eyes followed his every move, drinking in each piece of clothing he pulled. Hiccup felt more displayed, and more judged, than he had during the wedding procession with the entire village at attention.

"Are you just going to watch me?" he asked her in a low hiss. He kept stealing glances back at Gothi. He didn't trust her.

Astrid sat back on the bed, that impish smile back on her face. "I think I am."

"After I made everything so easy?"

"Easier," she corrected. She made a little shooing motion with her hand. "Get on with it."

Hiccup pouted but pulled the shirt overhead anyway—mildly annoyed and also grateful she behaved so… casual with him. Familiar. Maybe it was her way of trying to make things easier.

His hands still lingered at the waist of his trousers. The last article of clothing. With nothing to hold them up—no belt or draw—they hung low on his hips, enough to show the fine, rufous hair trailing up his navel.

Astrid's playful, predatory look faded at his hesitation. She gave him an apologetic shrug and stood. Her hands cupped his face and she kissed him, rare in its tenderness and sympathy.

"It's fine," she said in that soft, placating voice she'd been using for the past hour. "I've seen you naked before."

Hiccup leaned from her embrace. "What? No you haven't."

"I have."

"When?"

"The faster you are joined the sooner I may leave," Gothi spoke up again.

Hiccup winced. Astrid went red to the roots of her hair. It just occurred to Hiccup that Gothi was _Astrid's _Master. For her, this would be like having Gobber around.

He closed his eyes. _He was half-hard anyway,_ he reasoned; she had felt it when she last kissed him.

_It didn't matter._

They were husband and wife…

He hooked his thumbs into both the trousers and skivvies, cast a quick look to make sure the elder was still turned away, took a breath, and yanked both layers down.

The room felt colder, but he knew it was more in his head than actual exposure. Nerves. Hiccup stepped out of the pooled clothing and kicked them away before he dared to lift his eyes from the ground. His fingers clenched; his first reaction was to cover himself but Astrid had already grasped his wrists in a preemptive move.

She openly stared at his bared body. Hiccup fought to keep from grimacing. Saliva pooled under his tongue and he tried his best to swallow discretely. He didn't want to show his anxiety or the sudden weakness in his knees. Instead he turned his head so that he could keep Gothi in his peripheral.

"Just as you remembered?" he asked, trying to keep his voice light despite the nervous clench of his gut.

Astrid released his wrists and reached out. Her fingertips touched the skin between his hips. His pelvic muscles jumped.

She lifted her gaze from his body and _smiled_. Then she kissed him again.

"Even better," she murmured before laying another kiss upon his lips, deeper. "You aren't _five_ anymore."

Hiccup laughed. In the face of everything, a short, disbelieving chuckle bubbled from his throat. He could have told her that he loved her, right then, and wholeheartedly mean it.

Astrid responded with the first full smile he'd seen since they entered the bedroom.

"Let's do this." She said it like they were about to try out some new flying gear, full of bravado and determination.

Their mouths were back together in the next moment and her hands were at his waist, running up his back, teasing the skin above his rear, her palms smoothing along his bare skin like she couldn't stop touching him. It gave him confidence.

They moved onto the bed as one—she pulled him back as he pushed her down, kissing all the while. The kissing _helped_. It was something they were familiar enough with to distract them as they entered new, physical territory, rushed by tradition.

Hiccup quickly became hyperaware of everything Astrid did. She shimmied back, her robe tickling his skin, and settled on the pillow. Her hands untied the sash holding the last article of clothing shut. He felt her knuckles bump against his stomach in the action. Hiccup broke the kiss and looked down—the loosened cloth, the strip of skin—then back at her. Astrid nodded and he knew her enough to read the urging in her brow.

Braced over her on one arm, Hiccup parted the ceremony robe one side at a time. Astrid turned her gaze to the ceiling. Now it was _her_ turn to be on display. She could sympathize with Hiccup's initial reaction to cover himself.

She steeled her nerves, tightened her fists, and looked at him—_observed—_as he explored her exposed body.

Hiccup touched her like she touched him. First the stomach, pale and soft. The thatch of curls below. The curve of her abdomen. The dusting of freckles across her chest. His nails tickled her flesh, raising goosebumps. His hand ghosted toward her ribs and hovered by the peak of her breast, his palms soaking in the cool contrast.

He didn't need to say _she was beautiful._ She could see it in his face. The naked awe etched into his features, the gaze that kept falling to her body.

Astrid breathed into his touches, her chest rising right before him. Her hands trailed up his arms, over the thin, corded muscles, and played with his hair. They took that a small, timeless moment to relish in the body they were bound to in matrimony.

She hadn't expected Hiccup to look so nervous, so closed off, the more his hands explored. Not with the way he touched her. Astrid cupped his cheek and ducked her head in close to his.

"Hey," she said, having caught his attention.

"Hey," he croaked. The atmospheric edge had returned. Probably because they stopped kissing. _They had been doing so well._

"You've done this before," Astrid reminded him. She looked paler in the candlelight. Tight-lipped.

He managed half a smile. "Not with _you_."

The simple message gave her more comfort than she anticipated. She preferred the even footing.

Hiccup saw her smile and captured it with his mouth, enticed. Her lips parted against his—familiar—and he settled his body down on her. She jolted when their bare skin touched—their navels pressed together, his organ trapped between—but she didn't pause in her caress.

Their kisses quickly became charged with the new rousing sensations—skin on skin, his weight on her, his narrow hips trapped between her thighs.

Hiccup mouthed her collar, kissed down her chest, and tested the sensitivity of her breasts. Astrid wrapped her legs around him and closed her eyes. She knew what he was doing—warming her for entrance under the pressure of time—so she worked with him and focused on the stirrings he incited. He was gentler than Grund. Sensual. The candlelight and the quiet and the sound of his mouth wet on her body heated her loins. His length was hot and rigid against her belly, sliding against her in whatever way he moved.

When Hiccup returned to her lips his hands became more active. He rolled his palm down her body to the junction between her legs and tentatively brushed her lower lips with the pads of his fingers. She gave a hum of approval and tightened her arms around his neck. His fingers explored the warmth between her legs—prodding, delving, gentle—and Astrid kept focusing on how they were _his_ fingers. Hiccup's beautiful, long, slender, _quick_ fingers.

All the while she kept her hands moving around him, over his shoulders, down his sides, across his stomach. Possessive. She never touched the bobbing length between them. _Later_.

Astrid gasped into his mouth when his thumb pressed against her nub, what only _she_ had touched before, with his fingers wet in her folds. He did it again. Harder, quicker-

"Okay," she breathed, fast.

Hiccup drew back and looked at her. It took a moment for his eyes to focus. They were dark, pupils dilated in his state of arousal. "Ready?"

Astrid nodded, "Yeah."

Hiccup mimicked her head motion. Still looking dazed, he slowly turned his attention downward.

The vice she had around his hips loosened as her legs parted in offering. She watched, with an almost detached sense of curiosity, as his arm moved between their bodies to guide himself to her entrance. The purpled head peeking from his grip bumped against the soft skin of her groin and she bit her lip.

"Do you need… um… help?" She felt foolish as she tripped over the words. She wanted to hit something immediately after.

"Help?" he repeated, taken from the moment.

Hiccup didn't know where to _start_ with what he could use help in.

Astrid had trouble meeting his eyes. It annoyed her; how she couldn't fully prepare for this outside of actual experience.

"My mother—some of the women—they said," her voice had gone so quiet in her uncertainty that he could barely hear her, "they… well, spoke of men sometimes needing stimulation…"

"Oh," Hiccup blinked. "Heh… no, I'm… I think I'm all set there." He had come to full length, his skin drawn back.

"Yeah, sorry," she sighed. "Just… covering all my bases."

She looked at him. His head was still bowed toward his task but she could still see the sheer concentration on his face. They were just a touch away from being joined.

She brushed his bangs and whispered, again, "Okay."

Hiccup didn't need any more command. He pushed his hips forward, his spine curved under the spread of her hands, and Astrid felt him penetrate her. It was the oddest sensation. She tried desperately to relax to keep it from becoming painful; nothing _painful_ should ever be associated with Hiccup. If she were to be objective, she'd describe it as uncomfortable but bearable.

But she couldn't be objective. This was _Hiccup_ inside of her. _His_ member, heated, solid and inside her. Her thighs pressed tighter around his waist, drawing him into her even as the discomfort endured. Her heels dug into his backside.

Hiccup let her set the pace, moving slowly until he was fully enveloped inside his young wife. They held the position, fully bound. Hiccup hung his head next to hers to hide the rapture on his face. He listened to her breathe in his ear, his nose buried into her throat, and concentrated on controlling the reflexes of his hips.

"Alright?" he asked.

He felt her nod.

"Are you?" she returned.

"Yeah," he said. But he sounded strained.

She waited for him to move.

Hiccup kept his forehead pressed against hers. His breath ghosted along her collar.

"Hiccup?"

"I can't believe I have you," he murmured into her hair.

Astrid's arms tightened around his shoulders and she kissed the skin behind his jaw. She felt… connected. Full. She could have stayed like that for a long while more, just holding him.

A loud _clunck_ rapped against the bedpost.

"Is it in?"

Hiccup whipped his head around.

Both had forgotten the Elder.

"Yes," Astrid squeaked when Hiccup seemed to have lost his voice.

The old woman pursed her lips, eyes roving over the joined couple shamelessly. Then she turned towards the door.

"Complete this," she rasped. "I will be outside."

Hiccup could feel Astrid relax a bit in his arms. He also felt grateful for the unexpected blessing, but it wasn't enough to soothe his mortification.

The elder paused with her hand on the door handle.

"I will, as you say, have a mug to the door."

Then she closed it behind her.

They remained motionless in the wake of her exit. Astrid cleared her throat.

"Well…" she began.

Hiccup's brow knit. "Did she just…"

"Yes." Astrid's grin was wild. "Yes she did. She got a good eyeful of your ass."

He groaned and dropped his head. "Great. That makes me feel better."

"Well, so long as you feel better," she muttered. "_I _have to see her every day."

Hiccup shifted his hips back before pushing them forward. Astrid bit her lip.

He froze.

"Sorry!" He hadn't been thinking. "Are you…?"

Astrid gave a bit of a breathy laugh and Hiccup thought it was lovely the way her chest heaved and her hair haloed around the pillow.

"It's fine," she assured him. "This is good."

He dipped his head and captured her lips, still nestled fully inside her.

"I just want you to feel comfortable," he said. He swept soft pecks down her cheek and jaw to her ear.

He wanted her to feel comfortable and he wanted to thank her for agreeing to marry him and for accepting his past choices and for the night. For just being Astrid.

Her fingers trailed his spine. "I am," she assured him. "It's all a little weird."

"It is," he agreed. "We'll get used to it."

"We will…"Astrid's roaming fingers slid down his sides, around his hips, to over his rump where she gripped a cool butt cheek in each hand. "Starting now."

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**A/N:** Okay, so that was what my version of a consummation chapter looks like. I'm sorry, children. I'm sorry. I tried to keep it both realistic, not too descriptive, not _too_ awkward (because while awkward is cute, sometimes it's exaggerated) and not too… _"in the moment"_.

Feel free to complain, debate, comment, I'd love to hear it. I think we just have an epilogue left and I'll let this thing rest. Thanks so much for reading! You guys are awesome :D


	10. Calling it a Day

**Epilogue**

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><p><strong>Calling it a Day<strong>

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><p>Hiccup wiped his palms against his trousers and flexed his stiff fingers. The noises from the next room left him in an uncomfortable state—torn between covering his ears and busting inside.<p>

But Astrid didn't want him in there. She made that quite clear and her wishes were _law_ in this situation. He had no business, no say, in _anything_ regarding childbirth.

"Alright, son?"

Hiccup made sure to swallow the gathered saliva under his tongue before answering his father.

"Yeah."

"You look a bit white."

"A bit," Axel scoffed.

The three men had been sitting in the main area of the young Haddock's residence for the better part of the morning. Glüm, Astrid's mother, was allowed in. As were the two midwifes, who now assisted in most births ever since Gothi found the home visits too tiring for her aged body.

"'M fine," Hiccup muttered. But he couldn't seem to take his eyes off of the door. The rafters creaked. Both their dragons paced the roof. Toothless's job was to keep Sturmflae from breaking into the room to investigate her rider's distress. Hiccup and Astrid did their best to make the dragons understand this was all _natural_ and _good_, but as soon as Astrid went into labor Sturmflae became agitated.

And her agitation made _him_ agitated.

Hiccup tried to focus on something—anything—else. On the correspondences he had yet to reply to. On the Murderous Tribe's increasing activity in the northwest. On Alivia, who would be turning two in a few months. On his father's annoying hints that _maybe he was ready to retire_ (to which Hiccup would promptly find something else to do. He was _not_ ready to be chief).

He thought of Fishlegs, who had become more withdrawn, more obsessed with pinpointing his birth origin. It was exactly the sort of thing Hiccup would have jumped to assist with if he wasn't already bogged down by his workload, and inter-island fiascos, and now with a young family.

The noise stopped, no longer did the groans and gasps of his wife, the encouragements and instructions of her beside handlers, permeate the door, and just as suddenly a cold dread gripped his heart.

Hiccup sat up. _Silence._ He couldn't breathe._ Silence was bad._

He turned to his father, helpless. He couldn't read the expression on the chief's face. It may have mirrored his own: suspended, blank, caught between fright and hope—

A single cry rang out.

Hiccup leapt to his feet.

_"Wait_," Stoick advised.

Hiccup just managed to keep from touching the door. He let out a breath and glanced over his shoulder. Stoick appeared a large, calm presense next to Axel, who looked just as tense as Hiccup felt. Astrid's father's beard twitched and his face, for once, was left unguarded.

The cries on the other side continued. The cries of a new voice—a blessed omen, to be sure—but still only _one_ voice.

Hiccup bounced on his heels much like when he was a boy. Even after the noise quelled. He wanted it back. He hated the silence.

Finally, the door opened.

"It's—oh!"

Glüm stepped back, a hand to her aproned bosom. Clearly, she wasn't prepared for Hiccup to be standing _right there_.

Hiccup looked past the dark stains streaked across the lap of her apron and sleeves, and right over the woman's head.

"She's fine," Glüm assured him. She patted a hand to his chest. "They're both—well then!"

Hiccup had squeezed by her and entered the room without any further welcome. _'She's fine_' was all he needed to hear.

Astrid was in their bed, propped by shallow pillows and layered in blankets. One midwife knelt at her side, helping set her up for nursing. A second midwife bustled around the room collecting cloths and instruments from the delivery.

Hiccup's gaze fixed on the bundle in Astrid's arms. His hands shook. He stepped closer and Astrid looked up. Rings darkened the thin skin below her eyes and her cheeks were blotched in red. Sweat slicked the loose hair to her forehead and neck, and her lips appeared pale.

"Hey," he said, suddenly breathless.

She managed half a smile and mouthed the greeting back at him. The midwife gently touched her arm and told her she'd given them some privacy. As she passed Hiccup she smiled and said, "Congratulations on your son."

Hiccup nodded at her absently.

_A boy._

His legs carried him across the room, for which he was thankful; he felt too lightheaded move on his own. When he kneeled at the bedside his gaze first went to the child swathed in a dyed blanket. The baby's pink, new flesh was mottled purple and grey and the sparse dark hair atop his head was slick and wispy. Puffy, closed eyes, a double chin and scrunched face… He was _beautiful_.

Hiccup reached out and gently rested his hand on his child's head. The baby grunted at the warm touch and continued to nose around Astrid's breast.

"You did it," Hiccup uttered numbly. It sounded stupid as soon as he said it but he didn't know what else to say. He was…speechless—a rare and confining state for him to be in—but he was so _in awe_ of his wife at that moment words escaped him.

"How are you feeling?" he managed to ask.

Astrid closed her eyes and let her head fall back.

"Never again," she muttered. "Never. Again."

Hiccup nodded vigorously.

"Yes, yeah—whatever you want."

He didn't know who he wanted to stare at more—Astrid or his son. He wanted to sit back and gaze at him both, and at the same time wanted to gather both into his arms just to feel their heartbeats.

"I'm serious. Next baby, you're carrying."

"Of course."

The infant gave her breast a couple suckles before squirming away with a fuss. Astrid cursed softly.

"He won't take," she muttered. The midwife said it was normal, that it would take practice, but Astrid couldn't help but feel discouraged.

Hiccup brushed back her hair and laid a kiss to her salty forehead. He hadn't noticed the giant grin plastered across his face until he tried to move his lips.

"You're amazing." The sincerity in his voice was enough to make Astrid smile despite her exhaustion.

"I know."

Still grinning so hard the back of his jaw ached, Hiccup reached out and touched a downy, baby cheek with the back of his finger. The infant bleated and hiccupped. His little, spindly arms fought loose from the swathing and he pumped his fists at them.

"He might have his father's appetite, but at least he's strong like his mother," Astrid cooed. She found the strength to lift the baby and press her lips to his cheek, and then proceeded to nuzzle him.

Hiccup didn't mind the light barb. His heart was soaring. Hours of uncertainty and tension had ebbed away into a euphoric relief. He crossed his arms on the bed and rested his chin on them so he could simply gaze at the mother and child. At his _wife_ and _child_. Both of whom were _okay_. Alive and healthy and _his_.

"So… Finn is it?" he asked.

Astrid shook her head before gesturing to the sword overhanging their bedroom wall. Endeavor. The gleaming refurbished blade with the old, entwined handle was the very same Hiccup had disappeared for two and a half weeks retrieving. The very same he presented to Astrid on their wedding day.

"Garik."

Garik "Grimbeard" the Ghastly. Hiccup's great-great grandfather and the greatest pirate to ever sail the Barbaric Archepelagoes, his untold fortunes hidden with the very same cleverness that Hiccup possessed.

Hiccup stared at her.

"Are-are you sure?"

Astrid focused on getting _Garik_ to take the nipple again.

"I'm sure," she said. Her eyes were tired, but bright as she watched Garik tentatively latch for the second time. "I have high hopes for him."

_Higher than Finn's accomplishments_, is what she didn't say.

Hiccup chuckled. "Already piling on the expectations?"

Astrid smiled. She had regained some of the color back in her lips.

"Yep."

Hiccup rubbed his son's head again. He couldn't seem to stop. "Don't worry buddy, I won't let her _Stoick_ you."

The look Astrid gave Hiccup didn't quite share his mirth.

"Next time I put him down you're getting walloped for that," she said.

"I don't doubt that." He glanced back at the door, which had been closed by _someone_. He hardly noticed their privacy before now. "Should we bring our dads in?"

He recalled Axel's tension and his dad's unreadable face. They had seemed inconsequential compared to what _he_ felt not too long ago, but now with his fears quelled Hiccup started to think outside of his own gratification.

A hand to his forearm stopped him from standing.

"Not yet," Astrid said. There was a note of pleading to her voice. "My mother's told them, I'm sure. Just… get in bed with us for a bit."

Hiccup stared at her for a beat. His brow lowered.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Of course. Whatever you want."

And he climbed on top of the blankets. His head went to the same pillow Astrid used, his body pressed against hers, his arm resting across her stomach, fingers capturing the tiny, lifted fist of Garik.

Astrid rested her head against Hiccup's and closed her eyes once more. He was due to leave _tonight _for another meeting between tribe heirs, but Garik came unexpected, a week early, and Astrid didn't know if Hiccup would still go. What she _did_ know was that this would be the norm. That Hiccup would always be pulled in at least three different directions with his self-imposed responsibilities and that moments like _this_-together and warm and timeless-would be far and few between.

It wasn't just on Hiccup's end either. Astrid was going to be a chief's wife any year now. She had a _Bog _step-daughter. She had shieldmaiden responsibilities on top of running her household. He had the most frustrating, lovable housemate in the _Barbaric_ Archipelagoes. They had just gotten comfortable with their marriage, with their routine in living together, and now they had a child.

Astrid was scared-not that she'd ever say it out loud-and she was _confident_. This would work; this life of dragon riding and war counsels and now _children_.

"We can make it work," she whispered, breath to Hiccup's chin. She felt him smile against her nose.

"We can," Hiccup agreed.

**The End**

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**A/N:** And Crossing the Line is over! Thanks for reading and following you guys! This was never meant to be a story in the first place but… accidents happen.

Also, quick promo, **The Roman Redress** was a detailed fic synopsis I wrote a long time ago, I'm talking meant for the Epic-level of Hitchups type of fic, and is now being written by Cherry Burlesque! It's three chapters in already and I urge you all to go check it out!

Thanks again guys for reading and thank you for your input and reviews!


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